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OF  THE. 

UNIVERSITY 
Of  ILLINOIS 

84IR66I 

Or-Ec 

1911a 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

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result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 
University  of  Illinois  Library 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/romauntofroserenOOguil 


* 


\ 


THE  ROMAUNT 
OF  THE  ROSE 

RENDERED  OUT  OF  THE  FRENCH  INTO 
ENGLISH  BY  GEOFFREY  CHAUCER  AND 
ILLUSTRATED  BY  KEITH  HENDERSON 
& NORMAN  WILKINSON  OF  FOUR  OAKS 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

igi  i 


Printed  by  Ballantyne,  Hanson  ts*  Co. 
At  the  Ballantyne  Press,  Edinburgh 


<RUt 

On  • 

/ pi K. 


£ 


r~ 

•=► 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


AS  BYRDE  IN  BOUR  Frontispiece 

IOLYF  AND  GAY  To  face  page  2 

IN  AT  THE  WIKET  WENT  I THO  8 

THE  DAUNCE  10 

MYNSTRALES  12 

THE  GOD  OF  LOVE  14 

YDELNESSE  16 

LOVE  PURSUING  20 

THE  BOTHOUN  22 

THE  THREE  ARROWS  OF  LOVE  24 

PEYNE  42 

THE  LOVER  LISTENING  TO  REASOUN  44 

UNTO  MY  FREEND,  AND  TOLDE  HYM  ALL  46 
“ A,  BIALACOIL,  MYN  OWNE  DEERE  ” 58 

SWEET  REASON  62 

YOUTHE  AND  DELITE  66 

“MI  MODIR  IS  OF  GRET  PROWESSE  ” 78 

“ IF  THAT  I WERE  GOD  OF  RICHESSE  ” 80 

DAME  ABSTINENCE-STREYNED  84 

THE  END  102 


Of  the  above  Illustrations,  the  Frontispiece  and  those 
facing  pages  2,  10,  16,  20,  42,  44,  46,  8o,  and  102  are  by 
Keith  Henderson;  those  facing  pages  8,  12,  14,  22,  24,  58, 
62,  66,  78,  and  84  are  by  Norman  Wilkinson. 


HERE  BEGINS  THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE  BY  GUILLAUME 
DE  LORRIS  AND  JEHANDE  MEUNG:  RENDEREDOUTOFTHE 
FRENCH  INTO  ENGLISH  BY  GEOFFREY  CHAUCER 


MANY  men  sayn  that  in 
sweveninges 
Ther  nys  but  fables  and 
lesynges ; 

But  men  may  some  swevenes  sene 
Whiche  hardely  that  false  ne  bene, 
But  afterwarde  ben  apparaunt. 

This  maye  I drawe  to  warraunt 
An  authour  that  hight  Macrobes, 
That  halte  nat  dremes  false  ne  lees, 
But  undothe  us  the  avysioun 
That  whilom  mette  kyng  Cipioun. 
And  who-so  saith,  or  weneth  it  be 
A jape,  or  elles  nycete, 

To  wene  that  dremes  after  falle, 
Lette  who  so  lyste  a foie  me  calle. 
For  this  trowe  I,  and  say  for  me, 
That  dremes  signifiaunce  be 
Of  good  and  harme  to  many  wightes, 
That  dremen  in  her  slepe  a nyghtes 
Ful  many  thynges  covertly, 

That  fallen  after  al  openly. 

Within  my  twenty  yere  of  age, 
Whan  that  Love  taketh  his  cariage 
Of  yonge  folke,  I wente  soone 
To  bedde,  as  I was  wont  to  done, 
And  faste  I slepte ; and  in  slepyng 
Me  mette  suche  a swevenyng 
That  lyked  me  wonder  wele. 

But  in  that  sweven  is  never  a dele 
That  it  nys  afterwarde  befalle, 
Ryght  as  this  dreme  wol  tel  us  alle. 

Nowe  this  dreme  wol  I ryme  a-right 
To  make  your  hertes  gaye  and  lyght, 


For  Love  it  prayeth  and  also 
Commaundeth  me  that  it  be  so. 

And  if  there  any  aske  me, 

Whether  that  it  be  he  or  she, 

Howe  [wil  I]  this  booke  whiche  is  here 
Shal  hatte,  that  I rede  you  here  ; 

It  is  the  Romance  of  the  Rose, 

In  whiche  al  the  Arte  of  Love  I close. 

The  mater  fayre  is  of  to  make  : 

God  graunt  me  in  gree  that  she  it  take 
For  whom  that  it  begonnen  is  ! 

And  that  is  she  that  hath  y-wis 
So  mochel  pris,  and  therto  she 
So  worthy  is  biloved  to  be 
That  she  wel  ought  of  pris  and  ryght 
Be  cleped  Rose  of  every  wight. 

That  it  was  May  me  thoughte  tho — 

It  is  .V.  yere  or  more  ago — 

That  it  was  May  thus  dremed  me, 

In  tyme  of  love  and  jolite, 

That  al  thing  gynneth  waxen  gay. 

For  ther  is  neither  busk  nor  hay 
In  May  that  it  nyl  shrouded  bene, 

And  it  with  newe  leves  wrene. 

These  wodes  eek  recoveren  grene 
That  drie  in  wynter  ben  to  sene. 

And  the  erthe  wexith  proude  withalle 
For  swote  dewes  that  on  it  falle, 

And  [al]  the  pore  estat  forgette 
In  which  that  wynter  had  it  sette. 

And  than  bycomeththegroundsoproude, 
That  it  wole  have  a newe  shroude, 

And  makith  so  queynt  his  robe  and  faire 
That  it  hath  hewes  an  hundred  payre, 

A 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Of  gras  and  flouris,  ynde  and  pers, 

And  many  hewes  ful  dyvers. 

That  is  the  robe  I mene,  y-wis, 
Through  whiche  the  ground  to  preisen  is. 

The  byrdes  that  han  lefte  her  song 
While  thei  suffride  cold  so  strong, 

In  wedres  gryl  and  derk  to  sight, 

Ben  in  May,  for  the  sonne  bright, 

So  glade  that  they  shewe  in  syngyng, 
That  in  her  hertis  is  sich  lykyng, 

That  they  mote  syngen  and  be  light. 
Than  doth  the  nyghtyngale  hir  myght 
To  make  noyse  and  syngen  blythe; 
Than  is  blisful  many  sithe 
The  chelaundre  and  [the]  papyngay. 
Than  yonge  folk  entenden  ay 
Forto  ben  gay  and  amorous. 

The  tyme  is  than  so  saverous, 

Hard  is  the  hert  that  loveth  nought 
In  May,  whan  al  this  mirth  is  wrought ; 
Whan  he  may  on  these  braunches  here 
The  smale  briddes  syngen  clere 
Her  blesful  swete  song  pitous. 

And  in  this  sesoun  delytous, 

Whan  love  affraieth  alle  thing, 

Me  thoughte  a-nyght,  in  my  sleping 
Right  in  my  bed,  ful  redily 
That  it  was  by  the  morowe  erly. 

And  up  I roos,  and  gan  me  clothe. 
Anoon  I wisshe  myn  hondis  bothe. 

A sylvre  nedle  forth  y droughe 
Out  of  an  aguler  queynt  ynoughe, 

And  gan  this  nedle  threde  anon  ; 

For  out  of  toun  me  list  to  gon 
The  song  of  briddes  forto  here. 

That  in  thise  buskes  syngen  clere. 

And  in  the  swete  seson  that  lefe  is, 

With  a threde  bastyng  my  slevis, 


Alone  I wente  in  my  plaiyng, 

The  smale  foules  song  harknyng, 

That  peyned  hem  ful  many  pevre 
To  synge  on  bowes  blosmed  fevre. 
Iolyf  and  gay,  ful  of  gladnesse, 

Toward  a ryver  gan  I me  dresse, 

That  I herd  renne  faste  by, 

For  fairer  plaiyng  non  saugh  I 
Than  playen  me  by  that  ryvere. 

For  from  an  hill  that  stood  ther  nere. 
Cam  doun  the  streme  ful  stif  and  bold ; 
Cleer  was  the  water  and  as  cold 
As  any  welle  is,  soth  to  seyne. 

And  somdele  lasse  it  was  than  Seyne, 
But  it  was  strayghter,  wel  away  ; 

And  never  saugh  I,  er  that  day, 

The  watir  that  so  wel  lvked  me, 

j 

And  wondir  glad  was  I to  se 
That  lusty  place  and  that  ryvere. 

And  with  that  watir  that  ran  so  clere 
My  face  I wysshe.  Tho  saugh  I well 
The  botme  paved  everydell 
With  gravel  ful  of  stones  shene. 

The  medewe  softe,  swote,  and  grene, 
Beet  right  on  the  watir  syde. 

Ful  clere  was  than  the  morowtvde, 
And  ful  attempre,  out  of  drede. 

Tho  gan  I walke  thorough  the  mede, 
Dounward  ay  in  my  pleiyng 
The  ryver  syde  costeiyng. 

And  whan  I had  a while  goon, 

I saugh  a gardyn  right  anoon, 

Ful  long  and  brood,  and  euerydell 
Enclosed  was,  and  walled  well 
With  highe  walles  enbatailled, 
Portraied  without  and  wel  entailled 
With  many  riche  portraitures. 

And  bothe  the  vmages  and  peyntures 
Gan  I biholde  bysyly ; 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  I wole  telle  you  redyly 
Of  thilk  ymages  the  semblaunce, 

As  fer  as  I have  remembraunce. 

Amydde  saugh  I Hate  stonde, 

That  for  hir  wrathe,  yre,  and  onde 
Semede  to  ben  a meveresse, 

An  angry  wight,  a chideresse ; 

And  ful  of  gyle  and  felle  corage 
By  semblaunt  was  that  ilk  ymage. 
And  she  was  no  thyng  wel  arraied, 
But  lyk  a wode  womman  afraied. 
Y-frounced  foule  was  hir  visage 
And  grennyng  for  dispitous  rage ; 
Hir  nose  snorted  up  for  tene. 

Ful  hidous  was  she  forto  sene, 

Ful  foule  and  rusty  was  she  this; 

Her  heed  y-writhen  was,  y-wis, 

Ful  grymly  with  a greet  towayle. 

An  ymage  of  another  entayle 
A lyft  half  was  hir  faste  by ; 

Hir  name  above  hir  heed  saugh  I, 
And  she  was  called  Felonye. 
Another  ymage,  that  Vilanye 
Y-clepid  was,  saugh  I and  fonde 
Upon  the  wal  on  hir  right  honde. 
Vilany  was  lyk  somdel 
That  other  ymage,  and,  trustith  wel, 
She  semede  a wikked  creature. 

By  countenaunce  in  portrayture 
She  semed  be  ful  dispitous, 

And  eek  ful  proude  and  outragious. 
Wel  coude  he  peynte,  I undirtake, 
That  sich  ymage  coude  make. 

Ful  foule  and  cherlysshe  semed  she, 
And  eek  vylayneus  forto  be, 

And  litel  coude  of  norriture 
To  worshipe  any  creature. 


And  next  was  peynted  Coveitise, 
That  eggith  folk  in  many  gise 
To  take  and  yeve  right  nought  ageyne. 
And  gret  tresouris  up  to  leyne. 

And  that  is  she  that  for  usure 
Leneth  to  many  a creature, 

The  lasse  for  the  more  wynnyng, 

So  coveteise  is  her  brennyng. 

And  that  is  she  for  penyes  fele, 

That  techith  forto  robbe  and  stele 
These  theves  and  these  smale  harlotes ; 
And  that  is  routh,  for  by  her  throtes 
Ful  many  oon  hangith  at  the  laste. 

She  makith  folk  compasse  and  caste 
To  taken  other  folkis  thyng 
Through  robberie  or  myscounting. 
And  that  is  she  that  makith  trechoures 
And  she  makith  false  pleadoures, 

That,  with  hir  termes  and  hir  domes, 
Doon  maydens,  children,  & eek  gromes 
Her  heritage  to  forgo. 

Ful  croked  were  hir  hondis  two, 

For  coveitise  is  evere  wode 
To  gripen  other  folkis  gode ; 

Coveityse  for  hir  wynnyng 
Ful  leef  hath  other  mennes  thing. 

Another  ymage  set  saugh  I 
Next  Coveitise  faste  by, 

And  she  was  clepid  Avarice. 

Ful  foule  in  peyntyng  was  that  vice, 
Ful  fade  and  caytif  was  she  eek. 

And  also  grene  as  ony  leek. 

So  yvel  hewed  was  hir  colour 
Hir  semed  to  have  lyved  in  langour; 
She  was  lyk  thyng  for  hungre  deed, 
That  ladde  hir  lyf  oonly  by  breed 
Kneden  with  eisel  strong  and  egre ; 
And  therto  she  was  lene  and  megre. 


3 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  she  was  clad  ful  porely 
A1  in  an  old  torn  courtepy, 

As  she  were  al  with  doggis  torne ; 

And  both  bihynde  and  eke  biforne 
Clouted  was  she  beggarly. 

A mantyl  henge  hir  faste  by. 

Upon  a perche  weike  and  small ; 

A burnet  cote  henge  therwith-all, 
Furred  with  no  menyvere 
But  with  a furre  rough  of  here, 

Of  lambe  skynnes  hevy  and  blake  ; 

It  was  ful  old  I undirtake, 

For  Avarice  to  clothe  hir  well 
Ne  hastith  hir  neveradell. 

For  certeynly  it  were  hir  loth 
To  weren  ofte  that  ilke  cloth  ; 

And  if  it  were  forwered  she 
Wolde  have  ful  gret  necessite 
Of  clothyng,  er  she  bought  hir  newe, 
Al  were  it  bad  of  woll  and  hewe. 

This  Avarice  hilde  in  hir  hande 
A purs  that  henge  [doun]  by  a bande, 
And  that  she  hidde  and  bonde  so  strong, 
Men  must  abyde  wondir  long, 

Out  of  that  purs  er  ther  come  ought ; 
For  that  ne  cometh  not  in  hir  thought. 
It  was  not,  certein,  hir  entent 
That  fro  that  purs  a peny  went. 

And  by  that  ymage  nygh  ynough 
Was  peynted  Envye,  that  never  lough, 
Nor  never  wel  in  hir  herte  ferde, 

But  if  she  outher  saugh  or  herde 
Som  gret  myschaunce,  or  gret  disese. 
No  thyng  may  so  moch  hir  plese 
As  myschef  and  mysaventure ; 

Or  whan  she  seeth  discomfiture 
Upon  ony  worthy  man  falle. 

That  likith  hir  wel  with  alle. 


She  is  ful  glade  in  hir  corage, 

If  she  se  any  grete  lynage 

Be  brought  to  nought  in  shamful  wise. 

And  if  a man  in  honour  rise, 

Or  by  his  witte  or  by  his  prowesse, 

Of  that  hath  she  gret  hevynesse. 

For  trustith  wel  she  goth  nygh  woae, 
Whan  any  chaunge  happith  gode. 
Envie  is  of  such  crueltee 
That  feith  ne  trouth[e]  holdith  she 
To  freend  ne  felawe,  bad  or  good. 

Ne  she  hath  kynne  noon  of  hir  blood, 
That  she  nys  ful  her  enemye  ; 

She  nolde,  I dar  seyn  hardelve, 

Hir  owne  fadir  ferde  well. 

And  sore  abieth  she  everydell 
Hir  malice  and  hir  male  talent, 

For  she  is  in  so  gret  turment 
Andhathsuch  [wo]  whanfolkdothgood, 
That  nygh  she  meltith  for  pure  wood  ; 
Hir  herte  kervyth  and  so  brekith, 

That  god  the  puple  wel  a-wrekith. 
Envie,  i-wis,  shal  nevere  lette 
Som  blame  upon  the  folk  to  sette ; 

I trowe  that  if  Envie,  i-wis, 

Knewe  the  beste  man  that  is 
On  this  side,  or  biyonde  the  see, 

Yit  somewhat  lakken  hym  wolde  she ; 
And  if  he  were  so  hende  aijd  wis, 

That  she  ne  myght  al  abate  his  pris, 

Yit  wolde  she  blame  his  worthynesse, 
Or  by  hir  wordis  make  it  lesse. 

I saugh  Envie  in  that  peyntyng 
Hadde  a vvondirful  lokyng. 

For  she  ne  lokide  but  awrie, 

Or  overthart  all  baggyngly. 

And  she  hadde  a foule  usage, 

She  myght  loke  in  no  visage 

Of  man  or  womman  forth-right  pleyn. 


4 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


But  shette  hir  one  eye  for  disdeyn  ; 

So  for  Envie  brenned  she, 

Whan  she  myght  any  man  y-se 
That  faire  or  worthi  were,  or  wise, 

Or  elles  stode  in  folkis  pryse. 

Sorwe  was  peynted  next  Envie 
Upon  that  wall  of  masonrye, 

But  wel  was  seyn  in  hir  colour 
That  she  hadde  lyved  in  langour ; 

Hir  semede  to  have  the  jaunyce. 
Nought  half  so  pale  was  Avarice, 

Nor  no  thyng  lyk  [as]  of  lenesse ; 

For  sorowe,  thought,  and  gret  distresse, 
That  she  hadde  suffred  day  and  nyght, 
Made  hirful  yolweandno thyng  bright, 
Ful  fade,  pale,  and  megre  also. 

Was  never  wight  yit  half  so  wo 
As  that  hir  semede  forto  be, 

Nor  so  fulfilled  of  ire  as  she. 

I trowe  that  no  wight  myght  hir  please, 
Nor  do  that  thyng  that  myght  hir  ease ; 
Nor  she  ne  wolde  hir  sorowe  slake 
Nor  comfort  noon  unto  hir  take, 

So  depe  was  hir  wo  bigonnen 
And  eek  hir  hert  in  angre  ronnen. 

A sorowful  thyng  wel  semed  she. 

Nor  she  hadde  no  thyng  slowe  be 
Forto  forcracchen  al  hir  face, 

And  forto  rent  in  many  place 
Hir  clothis,  and  forto  tere  hir  swire, 

As  she  that  was  fulfilled  of  ire. 

And  al  to-torn  lay  eek  hir  here 
Aboute  hir  shuldris  here  and  there, 

As  she  that  hadde  it  al  to-rent 
For  angre,  and  for  maltalent. 

And  eek  I telle  you  certevnly 
H ow  that  she  wepe  ful  tendirly. 

In  worlde  nys  wyght  so  harde  of  herte 


That  had  [he]  sene  her  sorowes  smerte, 
That  nolde  have  had  of  her  pyte, 

So  wo  begone  a thyng  was  she. 

She  al  to-dassht  her-selfe  for  woo, 

And  smote  togyder  her  hondes  two. 
To  sorowe  was  she  ful  ententyfe 
That  woful  rechelesse  caytyfe ; 

Her  roughte  lytel  of  playing 
Or  of  clypping,  or  [of]  kissyng; 

For  who  so  sorouful  is  in  herte, 

Him  luste  not  to  play  ne  sterte, 

Ne  for  to  dauncen,  ne  to  synge, 

Ne  may  his  herte  in  temper  bringe, 

To  make  joye  on  even  or  morowe, 

For  joy  is  contrarie  unto  sorowe. 

Elde  was  paynted  after  this, 

That  shorter  was  a foote,  i-wys, 

Than  she  was  wonte  in  her  yonghede. 
Unneth  her  selfe  she  mighte  fede  ; 

So  feble  and  eke  so  olde  was  she 
That  faded  was  al  her  beaute. 

Ful  salowe  was  waxen  her  colour ; 

Her  heed  for  hore  was  whyte  as  flour, 
I-wys  great  qualme  ne  were  it  none, 
Ne  synne,al  though  her  lyfe  were  gone ; 
Al  woxen  was  her  body  unwelde, 

And  drie  and  dwyned  al  for  elde. 

A foule  forwelked  thyng  was  she, 

That  whylom  rounde  and  softe  had  be ; 
Her  eeres  shoken  faste  withall, 

As  from  her  heed  they  wolde  fall ; 

Her  face  frounced  and  forpyned, 

And  botheherhondeslorne,fordwyned. 
So  olde  she  was  that  she  ne  went 
A foote,  but  it  were  by  potent. 

The  tyme  that  passeth  nyght  and  daye, 
And  restelesse  travayleth  aye, 

And  steleth  from  us  so  prively, 

5 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  to  us  semeth  so  sykerly 
That  it  in  one  poynt  dwelleth  ever; 

And  certes  it  ne  resteth  never. 

But  gothe  so  faste,  and  passeth  aye, 

That  there  nys  man  that  thynke  may 
What  tyme  that  nowe  present  is; 

Asketh  at  these  clerkes  this. 

For  [or]  men  thynke  it  redily 
Thre  tymes  ben  y-passed  by. 

The  tyme  that  may  not  sojourne, 

But  goth  and  may  never  retourne, 

As  watir  that  doun  renneth  ay, 

But  never  drope  retourne  may. 

Ther  may  no  thing  as  tyme  endure, 
Metall  nor  erthely  creature ; 

For  alle  thing  it  frette  and  shall. 

The  tyme  eke  that  chaungith  all, 

And  all  doth  waxe  and  fostred  be, 

And  alle  thing  distroieth  he ; 

The  tyme  that  eldith  our  auncessours. 
And  eldith  kynges  and  emperours, 

And  that  us  alle  shal  overcomen 
Er  that  deth  us  shal  have  nomen  ; 

The  tyme,  that  hath  al  in  welde 
To  elden  folk,  had  maad  hir  elde 
So  ynly,  that  to  my  witing, 

She  myght[e]  helpe  hir  sill  no  thing, 

But  turned  ageyn  unto  childhede. 

She  had  no  thing  hir  silf  to  lede, 

Ne  witte  ne  pithe  in  hir  holde 
More  than  a child  of  two  yeer  olde. 

But  natheles  I trowe  that  she 
Was  faire  sumtyme,  and  fresh  to  se, 
Whan  she  was  in  hir  rightful  age ; 

But  she  was  past  al  that  passage, 

And  was  a doted  thing  bicomen. 

A furred  cope  on  had  she  nomen, 

Wei  had  she  clad  hir  silf  and  warme, 

For  colde  myght  elles  don  hir  harme. 

6 


These  olde  folk  have  alwey  colde, 

Her  kynde  is  sich  whan  they  ben  olde. 

Another  thing  was  don  there  write, 
That  semede  lyk  an  ipocrite, 

And  it  was  clepid  Poope  Holy. 

That  ilk  is  she  that  pryvely 
Ne  spareth  never  a wikked  dede 
Whan  men  of  hir  taken  noon  hede. 
And  maketh  hir  outward  precious 
With  pale  visage  and  pitous, 

And  semeth  a simple  creature. 

But  ther  nys  no  mysaventure 
That  she  ne  thenkith  in  hir  corage. 
Ful  lyk  to  hir  was  that  ymage, 

That  makid  was  lyk  hir  semblaunce. 
She  was  ful  symple  of  countenaunce 
And  she  was  clothed  and  eke  shod 
As  she  were,  for  the  love  of  god, 
Yolden  to  relygioun, 

Sich  semede  hir  devocioun. 

A sauter  helde  she  faste  in  honde, 

And  bisily  she  gan  to  fonde 
To  make  many  a feynt  praiere 
To  god,  and  to  his  seyntis  dere. 

Ne  she  was  gay,  ne  fresh,  ne  jolyf, 

But  semede  to  be  ful  /ententyf 
To  gode  werkis  and  to  faire, 

And  therto  she  had  on  an  haire ; 

Ne  certis  she  was  fatt  no  thing, 

But  semed  wery  for  fasting ; 

Of  colour  pale  and  deed  was  she. 

From  hir  the  gate  ay  werned  be 
Of  Paradys,  that  blisful  place. 

For  sich  folk  maketh  lene  her  face, 

As  Crist  seith  in  his  Evangile, 

To  gete  prys  in  toun  a while ; 

And  for  a litel  glorie  veigne 
They  lesen  god  and  ek  his  reigne. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  alderlast  of  everychon 
Was  peynted  Povert  al  aloon, 

That  not  a peny  hadde  in  holde, 

All  though  she  hir  clothis  solde, 

And  though  she  shulde  an  honged  be  ; 
For  nakid  as  a worme  was  she, 

And  if  the  wedir  stormy  were, 

For  colde  she  shulde  have  dyed  there. 
She  nadde  on  but  a streit  olde  sak, 

And  many  a cloute  on  it  ther  stak ; 
This  was  hir  cote  and  hir  mantell, 

No  more  was  there,  never  a dell, 

To  clothe  hir  with,  I undirtake ; 

Grete  leyser  hadde  she  to  quake. 

And  she  was  putt,  that  I of  talke, 

Fer  fro  these  other,  up  in  an  halke ; 
There  lurked  and  there  coured  she. 
For  pover  thing,  where  so  it  be, 

Is  shamefast  and  dispised  ay ; 

Acursed  may  wel  be  that  day 
That  povere  man  conceyved  is, 

For  god  wote  al  to  selde,  i-wys, 

Is  ony  povere  man  wel  fedde 
Or  wel  araied  or  [wel]  cledde, 

Or  welbiloved  in  sich  wise 
In  honour  that  he  may  arise. 

Alle  these  thingis  well  avised, 

As  I have  you  er  this  devysed, 

With  gold  and  asure  over  all 
Depeynted  were  upon  the  wall. 

Square  was  the  wall  and  high  sumdell. 
Enclosed  and  barred  well, 

In  stede  of  hegge,  was  that  gardyne; 
Come  nevere  shepherde  therynne. 

Into  that  gardyn  wel  y-wrought 
Who  so  that  me  coude  have  brought 
By  laddre,  or  elles  by  degre, 

It  wolde  wel  have  liked  me, 

For  sich  solace,  sichjoie  and  play 


I trowe  that  nevere  man  ne  say, 

As  was  in  that  place  delytous. 

The  gardeyn  was  not  daungerous 
To  herberwe  briddes  many  oon, 

So  riche  a yerde  was  nevere  noon 
Of  briddes  songe  and  braunches  grene ; 
Therynne  were  briddes  mo  I wene 
Than  ben  in  all  the  rewme  of  Fraunce. 
Ful  blisful  was  the  accordaunce 
Of  swete  and  pitous  songe  thei  made  ; 
For  all  this  world  it  owghte  glade. 

And  I my-silf  so  mery  ferde, 

Whan  I her  blisful  songes  herde, 

That  for  an  hundreth  pounde  nolde  I, 
If  that  the  passage  opunly 
Hadde  be  unto  me  free, 

That  I nolde  entren  forto  se 
Thassemble — god  kepe  it  fro  care — 
Of  briddis  whiche  therynne  ware. 
That  songen  thorugh  her  mery  throtes 
Dauncis  of  love  and  mery  notes. 

Whan  I thus  herde  foules  synge, 

I felle  fast  in  a weymentyng, 

By  which  art,  or  by  what  engync, 

I myght  come  into  that  gardyne. 

But  way  I couthe  fynde  noon 
Into  that  gardyne  for  to  goon. 

Ne  nought  wist  I if  that  ther  were 
Eyther  hole  or  place  where, 

By  which  I myght  have  entre. 

Ne  ther  was  noon  to  teche  me, 

For  I was  al  aloone  i-wys, 

For-wo  and  angwishis  of  this. 

Til  atte  last  bithought  I me, 

That  by  no  weye  ne  myght  it  be 
That  ther  nas  laddre,  or  wey  to  passe, 
Or  hole,  into  so  faire  a place. 

Tho  gan  I go  a full  grete  pas, 
Envyronyng  evene  in  compas 


7 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


The  closing  of  the  square  wall, 

Tyl  that  1 fonde  a wiket  small, 

So  shett  that  I ne  myght  in  gon, 

And  other  entre  was  ther  noon. 
Uppon  this  dore  I gan  to  smyte 
That  was  [so]  fetys  and  so  lite. 

For  other  weye  coude  I not  seke. 

Ful  long  I shof,  and  knokkide  eke, 
And  stood  ful  long  and  oft  herknyng, 
If  that  I herde  ony  wight  comyng, 
Til  that  dore  of  thilk  entre 
A mayden  curteys  openyde  me. 

Hir  heer  was  as  yelowe  of  hewe 
As  ony  basyn  scoured  newe, 

H ir  flesh  [as]  tendre  as  is  a chike, 
With  bente  browis  smothe  and  slyke ; 
And  by  mesure  large  were 
The  openyng  of  hir  yen  clere; 

Hir  nose  of  good  proporcioun, 

Hir  yen  grey  as  is  a faucoun ; 

With  swete  breth  and  wel  savoured, 
Hir  face  white  and  wel  coloured, 
With  litel  mouth  and  rounde  to  see ; 
A clove  chynne  eke  hadde  she, 

Hir  nekke  was  of  good  fasoun. 

In  lengthe  and  gretnesse  by  resoun, 
Withoute  bleyne,  scabbe,  or  royne; 
Fro  Iersalem  unto  Burgoyne 
Ther  nys  a fairer  nekke,  i-wys, 

To  fele  how  smothe  and  softe  it  is. 

H ir  throte  also  white  of  hewe 
As  snowe  on  braunche  snowed  newe. 
Of  body  ful  wel  wrought  was  she, 
Men  neded  not  in  no  cuntre 
A fairer  body  forto  seke. 

And  of  fyn  orfrays  hadde  she  eke 
A chapelet  so  semly  oon 
Ne  werede  never  mayde  upon. 

And  faire  above  that  chapelet 


A rose  gerland  had  she  sett. 

She  hadde  [in  honde]  a gav  mirrour, 
And  with  a riche  gold  tresour 
Hir  heed  was  tressed,  queyntely. 

Hir  sieves  sewid  fetouslv. 

And  forto  kepe  hir  hondis  faire 
Of  gloves  white  she  had  a paire. 

And  she  hadde  on  a cote  of  grene 
Of  cloth  of  Gaunt,  withouten  wene. 
W el  semyde  by  hir  apparayle 
She  was  not  wont  to  gret  travayle ; 

For  whan  she  kempte  was  fetisly, 

And  wel  arayed  and  richely, 

Thanne  had  she  don  al  hir  journe. 

For  merye  and  wel  bigoon  was  she, 
She  ladde  a lusty  lyf  in  May ; 

She  hadde  no  thought  by  nyght  ne  day 
Of  no  thyng,  but  it  were  oonly 
To  graythe  hir  wel  and  uncouthly. 
Whan  that  this  dore  hadde  opened  me 
This  may[de]  semely  forto  see, 

I thanked  hir  as  1 best  myght. 

And  axide  hir  how  that  she  hight, 
And  v^hat  she  was  I axide  eke. 

And  she  to  me  was  nought  unmeke, 
Ne  of  hir  answer  daungerous, 

But  faire  answeride,  and  seide  thus  : — 
“ Lo,  sir,  my  name  is  Ydelnesse  ; 

So  clepe  men  me,  more  and  lesse ; 

Ful  myghty  and  ful  riche  am  I, 

And  that  of  oon  thyng  namely, 

For  I entende  to  no  thvng. 

But  to  my  joye,  and  my  plevvng. 

And  forto  kembe  and  tresse  me. 
Aqueynted  am  I and  pryve 
With  Myrthe,  lord  of  this  gardyne, 
That  fro  the  lande  Alexandryne 
Made  the  trees  hidre  be  tette 
That  in  this  gardyne  ben  y-sette. 


8 


*?M§i & -'' • *»*»  rt  JJ 

m .w''  tl  111  'JB 

* 

. 


. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  whan  thetrees  were  woxen  on  hight, 
This  wall,  that  stant  heere  in  thi  sight, 
Dide  Myrthe  enclosen  al  aboute. 

And  these  ymages  al  withoute 
He  dide  hem  bothe  entaile  and  peynte, 
That  neithir  ben  jolyf  ne  queynte, 

But  they  ben  ful  of  sorowe  and  woo, 

As  thou  hast  seen  a while  agoo. 

And  ofte  tyme  hym  to  solace 
Sir  Myrthe  cometh  into  this  place, 

And  eke  with  hym  cometh  his  meynee, 
That  lyven  in  lust  and  jolite. 

And  now  is  Myrthe  therynne  to  here 
The  briddis,  how  they  syngen  clere, 
The  mavys  and  the  nyghtyngale, 

And  other  joly  briddis  smale. 

And  thus  he  walketh  to  solace 
Hym  and  his  folk,  for  swetter  place 
To  pleyen  ynne  he  may  not  fynde, 

Al  though  he  sought  oon  in-tyl  Ynde. 
The  alther-fairest  folk  to  see 
That  in  this  world  may  founde  be 
Hath  Mirthe  with  hym  in  his  route, 
That  folowen  hym  always  aboute.” 
Whan  Ydelnesse  had  tolde  al  this, 

And  I hadde  herkned  wel  y-wys, 
Thanne  seide  I to  dame  Ydelnesse: 

“ Now  also  wisly  god  me  blesse, 

Sith  Myrthe  that  is  so  faire  and  fre 
Is  in  this  yerde  with  his  meyne, 

Fro  thilk  assemble,  if  I may, 

Shal  no  man  werne  me  to-day. 

That  I this  nyght  ne  mote  it  see. 

For  wel  wene  I there  with  hym  be 
A faire  and  joly  companye, 

Fulfilled  of  all  curtesie.” 

And  forth,  withoute  wordis  mo, 

In  at  the  wiket  went  I tho, 

That  Ydelnesse  hadde  opened  me, 


Into  that  gardyne  faire  to  see. 

And  whan  I was  inne  i-wys, 

Myn  herte  was  ful  glad  of  this. 

For  wel  wende  I ful  sikerly 
Have  ben  in  Paradys  erthly  ; 

So  faire  it  was  that,  trusteth  wel, 

It  semede  a place  espirituel. 

For  certys,  as  at  my  devys, 

Ther  is  no  place  in  Paradys 
So  good  inne  forto  dwelle  or  be, 

As  in  that  gardyne,  thoughte  me. 

For  there  was  many  a bridde  syngyng 
Thorough-out  the  yerde  al  thringyng. 
In  many  places  were  nyghtyngales, 
Alpes,  fynches,  and  wodewales, 

That  in  her  swete  song  deliten. 

In  thilke  places  as  they  habiten, 

There  myght[e]  men  see  many  flokkes 
Of  turtles  and  [of]  laverokkes. 
Chalaundres  fele  sawe  I there, 

That  wery,  nygh  forsongen  were. 

And  thrustles,  terins,  and  mavys, 

That  songen  forto  wynne  hem  prys, 
And  eke  to  sormounte  in  hir  songe 
That  othere  briddes  hem  amonge. 

By  note  made  faire  servyse 
These  briddes  that  I you  devise ; 

They  songe  her  songe  as  faire  and  wele 
As  angels  don  espirituel. 

And,  trusteth  wel,  than  I hem  herde, 
Ful  lustily  and  wel  I ferde, 

For  never  yitt  sich  melody e 
Was  herd  of  man  that  myghte  dye. 
Sich  swete  song  was  hem  amonge, 
That  me  thought  it  no  briddis  songe, 
But  it  was  wondir  lyk  to  be 
Song  of  mermaydens  of  the  see, 

That,  for  her  syngyng  is  so  clere, 
Though  we  mermaydensclepe  hem  here 


9 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


In  English  as  is  oure  usaunce, 

Men  clepe  hem  sereyns  in  Fraunce. 
Ententif  weren  forto  synge 
These  briddis,  that  nought  unkunnyng 
Were  of  her  craft  and  apprentys, 

But  of  song  sotil  and  wys. 

And  certis,  whan  I herde  her  songe, 

And  sawe  the  grene  place  amonge, 

In  herte  I wexe  so  wondir  gay, 

That  I was  never  erst  er  that  day 
So  jolyf,  nor  so  wel  bigoo, 

Ne  merye  in  herte,  as  I was  thoo. 

And  than  wist  I and  sawe  ful  well, 

That  Ydelnesse  me  served  well, 

That  me  putte  in  sich  jolite. 

Hir  freend  wel  ought  I forto  be 
Sith  she  the  dore  of  that  gardyne 
Hadde  opened,  and  me  leten  inne. 
Fromhennesforth  how  that  I wroughte, 

I shal  you  tellen  as  me  thoughte. 

First  wherof  Myrthe  served  there, 

And  ekewhatfolktherewith  hymwere, 
Withoute  fable  I wole  discryve; 

And  of  that  gardyne  eke  as  blyve 
I wole  you  tellen  aftir  this 
The  faire  fasoun  all  y-wys, 

That  wel  y-wrought  was  for  the  nones. 

I may  not  telle  you  all  at  ones, 

But  as  I may  and  can,  I shall 
By  ordre  tellen  you  it  all. 

Ful  faire  servise,  and  eke  ful  swete, 

These  briddis  maden,  as  they  sete ; 

Layes  of  love  ful  wel  sownyng, 

They  songen  in  their  jargonyng  ; 

Summe  high  and  summeeke  lowe  songe 
Upon  the  braunches  grene  y-spronge. 
The  swetnesse  of  her  melodve 

J 

Made  al  myn  herte  in  reverye. 

And  whan  that  I hadde  herde,  I trowe, 

io 


These  briddis  syngyng  on  a rowe. 
Than  myght  I not  withholde  me 
That  I ne  wente  inne  forto  see 
Sir  Myrthe  ; for  my  desiryng 
Was  hym  to  seen,  over  alle  thyng ; 
His  countenaunce  and  his  manere, 
That  sighte  was  to  me  ful  dere. 

Tho  wente  I forth  on  my  right  honde 
Doun  by  a lytel  path  I fonde, 

Of  mentes  full  and  fenell  grene. 

And  faste  by,  withoute  wene, 

Sir  Myrthe  I fonde,  and  right  anoon 
Unto  sir  Myrthe  gan  I goon, 

There  as  he  was,  hym  to  solace. 

And  with  hym  in  that  lusty  place 
So  faire  folk  and  so  fresh  had  he, 

That  whan  I sawe  I wondred  me 
Fro  whennes  siche  folk  myght  come. 
So  faire  they  weren  all  and  some, 

For  they  were  lyk,  as  to  my  sighte, 
To  angels  that  ben  fethered  brighte. 

This  folk,  of  which  I telle  you  soo, 
Upon  a karole  wenten  thoo. 

A lady  karolede  hem,  that  hyght 
Gladnesse,  [the]  blisfull  and  the  light 
Wel  coude  she  synge  and  lustyly  ; 
Noon  half  so  wel  and  semely, 

Couthe  make  in  song  sich  refreynynge 
It  sat  hir  wondir  wel  to  synge ; 

Hir  voice  ful  clere  was  and  tul  swete. 
She  was  nought  rude  ne  unmete. 

But  couthe  ynow  of  sich  doyng 
As  longeth  unto  karolyng. 

For  she  was  wont  in  every  place 
To  syngen  first,  folk  to  solace, 

For  syngyng  moost  she  gat  hir  to. 

No  craft  had  she  so  leet  to  do. 

Tho  myghtist  thou  karoles  sene. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  folk  daunce  and  mery  bene, 

And  make  many  a faire  tournyng 
Upon  the  grene  gras  springyng. 

There  my ghtist  thou  see  these  flowtours, 
Mynstrales,  and  eke  jogelours, 

That  wel  to  synge  dide  her  peyne ; 
Somme  songe  songes  of  Loreyne, 

For  in  Loreyn  her  notes  bee 
Full  swetter  than  in  this  contre. 

There  was  many  a tymbester, 

And  saillouris  that  I dar  wel  swere, 
Couth  e her  craft  ful  parfitly ; 

The  tymbres  up  ful  sotilly, 

They  caste  and  hente  full  ofte, 

Upon  a fynger  faire  and  softe, 

That  they  [ne]  failide  never  mo. 

Ful  fetys  damyselles  two, 

Ryght  yonge  and  full  of  semelyhede, 
In  kirtles  and  noon  other  wede 
And  faire  tressed  every  tresse, 

Hadde  Myrthe  doon,  for  his  noblesse, 
Amydde  the  karole  forto  daunce. 

But  herof  lieth  no  remembraunce 
How  that  they  daunced  queyntely ; 
That  oon  wolde  come  all  pryvyly 
Agayn  that  other,  and  whan  they  were 
To-gidre  almost,  they  threwe  yfere 
Her  mouthis  so  that  through  her  play 
It  semed  as  they  kiste  alway. 

To  dauncen  well  koude  they  the  gise, 
What  shulde  I more  to  you  devyse; 
Ne  bode  I never  thennes  go, 

Whiles  that  I sawe  hem  daunce  so. 

Upon  the  karoll  wonder  faste 
I gan  biholde,  til  atte  laste 
A lady  gan  me  forto  espie ; 

And  she  was  cleped  Curtesie 
The  worshipfull,  the  debonaire. 


I pray  to  god  evere  falle  hir  faire. 

Ful  curteisly  she  callede  me, 

“ What  doy  e there,  Beau  ser  ? ” quod  she, 
“Come  [here],  and  if  it  lyke  yow 
To  dauncen,  dauncith  with  us  now.” 
And  I withoute  tariyng 
Wente  into  the  karolyng. 

I was  abasshed  never  a dell, 

But  it  to  me  liked  right  well 
That  Curtesie  me  cleped  so, 

And  bad  me  on  the  daunce  go. 

For  if  I hadde  durst,  certeyn 
I wolde  have  karoled  right  fayn. 

As  man  that  was  to  daunce  blithe. 
Thanne  gan  I loken  ofte  sithe 
The  shape,  the  bodies,  and  the  cheres. 
The  countenaunce,  and  the  maneres 
Of  all  the  folk  that  daunced  there; 
And  I shal  tell  [you]  what  they  were. 

Fulfaire  was  Myrthe,  fullongeand  high, 
A fairer  man  I nevere  sigh ; 

As  rounde  as  appille  was  his  face, 

Ful  rody  and  white  in  every  place. 
Fetys  he  was  and  wel  beseye, 

With  metely  mouth  and  yen  greye, 
His  nose  by  mesure  wrought  ful  right. 
Crispe  was  his  heer,  and  eek  ful  bright, 
Hise  shuldris  of  a large  brede, 

And  smalish  in  the  girdilstede. 

He  semed  lyke  a portreiture. 

So  noble  he  was  of  his  stature, 

So  faire,  so  joly  and  so  fetys, 

With  lymes  wrought  at  poynt  devys, 
Dely ver,  smert,  and  of  grete  myght ; 
Ne  sawe  thou  nevere  man  so  lyght. 

Of  berde  unnethe  hadde  he  no  thyng. 
For  it  was  in  the  firste  spryng. 

Ful  yonge  he  was, and  mery  of  thought ; 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  in  samette  with  briddis  wrought. 
And  with  gold  beten  ful  fetysly, 

His  body  was  clad  ful  richely. 
Wrought  was  his  robe  in  straunge  gise 
And  al  to-slytered  for  queyntise 
In  many  a place  lowe  and  hie ; 

And  shode  he  was  with  grete  maistrie. 
With  shoon  decoped  and  with  laas. 

By  druery  and  by  solas. 

His  leef  a rosyn  chapelet 
Hadde  made  and  on  his  heed  it  set. 

And  wite  ye  who  was  his  leef? 

Dame  Gladnesse  there  was  hym  so  leef, 
That  syngith  so  wel  with  glad  cpurage, 
That  from  she  was  .XII.  yeer  of  age, 
She  of  hir  love  graunt  hym  made. 

Sir  Mirthe  hir  by  the  fynger  hadde 
Daunsyng,  and  she  hym  also ; 

Grete  love  was  atwixe  hem  two. 

Bothe  were  they  faire  and  bright  of 
hewe ; 

She  semede  lyke  a rose  newe 
Of  colour,  and  hir  flesh  so  tendre 
That  with  a brere  smale  and  slendre 
Men  myght  it  cleve,  I dar  wel  seyn  ; 
Hir  forheed  frounceles,  al  pleyn  ; 

Bent  were  hir  [browne]  browis  two, 
Hir  yen  greye  and  glad  also. 

That  laugheden  ay  in  hir  semblaunt 
First  or  the  mouth,  by  covenaunt. 

I not  what  of  hir  nose  descryve, 

So  faire  hath  no  womman  alyve. 

H irheerwas  yelowe,andclereshynyng, 
I wot  no  lady  so  likyng. 

Of  orfrays  fresh  was  hir  gerland ; 

I,  which  seyen  have  a thousand, 

Saugh  never  y-wys  no  gerlond  yitt. 

So  wel  y-wrought  of  silk  as  it. 


And  in  an  overgilt  samit 
Cladde  she  was,  by  grete  debt, 

Of  which  hir  leef  a robe  werede  ; 

The  myrier  she  in  hir  herte  ferede. 

And  next  hir  wente,  in  hir  other  side. 
The  God  of  Love,  that  can  devyde 
Love,  and  as  hym  likith  it  be. 

But  he  can  cherles  daunten,  he, 

And  maken  folkis  pride  fallen, 

And  he  can  wel  these  lordis  thrallen. 
And  ladyes  putt  at  lowe  degre, 

Whan  he  may  hem  to  proude  see. 
This  God  of  Love  of  his  fasoun 
Was  lyke  no  knave,  ne  quystroun. 

His  beaute  gretly  was  to  preyse, 

But  of  his  robe  to  devise 
I drede  encombred  forto  be ; 

For  nought  y-clad  in  silk  was  he, 

But  all  in  floures  and  in  flourettes, 
I-paynted  all  with  amorettes. 

And  with  losenges,  and  scochouns, 
With  briddes,  lybardes,  and  lyouns, 
And  other  beestis  wrought  ful  well, 
His  garnement  was  everydell 
Y-portreied,  and  wrought  with  floures 
By  dyvers  medlyng  of  coloures. 
Floures  there  were  of  many  gise, 
Y-sett  by  compas  in  assise; 

Ther  lakkide  no  flour  to  my  dome, 

Ne  nought  so  mych  as  flour  of  brome, 
Ne  violete,  ne  eke  pervynke, 

Ne  flour  noon  that  man  can  on  thynke 
And  many  a rose-leef  ful  longe. 

Was  entermelled  ther  amonge. 

And  also  on  his  heed  was  sette 
Of  roses  reed  a chapelett. 

But  nyghtyngales,  a full  grete  route 
That  flyen  over  his  heed  aboute. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


The  leeves  felden  as  they  flyen  ; 

And  he  was  all  with  briddes  wryen, 
With  popynjay,  with  nyghtyngale, 
With  chalaundre,  and  with  wodewale, 
With  fynche,with  lark,  and  with  arch- 
aungell. 

He  semede  as  he  were  an  aungell, 
Thatdoun  were  comenfro  hevene  clere. 

Love  hadd  with  hym  a bachelere, 
That  he  made  alleweyes  with  hym  be; 
Swete  lokyng  cleped  was  he. 

This  bachelere  stode  biholdyng 
The  daunce ; and  in  his  honde  holdyng 
Turke  bowes  two  had  he. 

That  oon  of  hem  was  of  a tree 
That  bereth  a fruyt  of  savour  wykke, 
Ful  crokid  was  that  foule  stikke ; 

And  knotty  here  and  there  also. 

And  blak  as  bery,  or  ony  slo. 

That  other  bowe  was  of  a plante 
Withouten  wem,  I dar  warante, 

Ful  evene,  and  by  proporcioun 
Treitys  and  long,  of  good  fasoun  ; 

And  it  was  peynted  wel  and  thwyten, 
And  over  al  diapred  and  writen 
With  ladyes  and  with  bacheleris, 

Full  lyghtsom  and  glad  of  cheris. 
These  bowes  two  helde  Swete-lokyng, 
That  semede  lyk  no  gadelyng, 

And  ten  brode  arowis  hilde  he  there, 
Of  which  .V.  in  his  righthond  were  ; 
But  they  were  shaven  well  and  dight, 
Nokked  and  fethered  aright, 

And  all  they  were  with  gold  bygoon, 
And  stronge  poynted  everychoon. 

And  sharpe  forto  kerven  well. 

But  iren  was  ther  noon,  ne  steell, 

For  al  was  golde,  men  myght  it  see. 


Out-take  the  fetheres  and  the  tree. 
The  swiftest  of  these  arowis  fyve 
Out  of  a bowe  forto  dryve, 

And  beste  fethered  for  to  flee, 

And  fairest  eke,  was  clepid  Beaute  ; 
That  other  arowe  that  hurteth  lesse 
Was  clepid,  as  I trowe,  Symplesse ; 
The  thridde  cleped  was  Fraunchise 
That  fethred  was  in  noble  wise, 

With  valour  and  with  curtesye  ; 

The  fourthe  was  cleped  Compaignye, 
That  hevy  forto  shoten  ys ; 

But  who  so  shetith  right  y-wys, 

May  therwithdoongreteharmeandwo. 
The  fifte  of  these,  and  laste  also, 
Faire-Semblaunt  men  that  arowe  calle. 
The  leeste  grevous  of  hem  alle, 

Yit  can  it  make  a ful  grete  wounde. 
But  he  may  hope  his  soris  sounde, 
That  hurt  is  with  that  arowe  y-wys ; 
His  wo  the  bette  bistowed  is, 

For  he  may  sonner  have  gladnesse ; 
His  langour  oughte  be  the  lesse. 

Five  arowis  were  of  other  gise, 

That  ben  ful  foule  to  devy'se, 

For  shaft  and  ende,  soth  forto  telle, 
Were  also  blak  as  fende  in  helle. 

The  first  of  hem  is  called  Pride, 

That  other  arowe  next  hym  biside. 

It  was  [y-] cleped  Vylanye. 

That  arowe  was  al  with  felonye 
Envenymed,  and  with  spitous  blame. 
The  thridde  of  hem  was  cleped  Shame, 
The  fourthe  Wanhope  cleped  is. 

The  fifte  Newe-thought,  y-wys. 

These  arowis  that  I speke  of  heere 
Were  alle  fyve  on  oon  maneere. 

And  alle  were  they  resemblable. 

To  hem  was  wel  sittyng  and  able, 

13 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


The  foule  croked  bowe  hidous 
That  knotty  was,  and  al  roynous; 

That  bowe  semede  wel  to  shete 
These  arowis  fyve,  that  ben  unmete 
And  contrarye  to  that  other  fyve. 

But  though  I telle  not  as  blyve 
Of  her  power,  ne  of  her  myght, 
Herafter  shal  I tellen  right 
The  soothe,  and  eke  signyfiaunce ; 

As  fer  as  I have  remembraunce 
All  shal  be  seid,  I undirtake, 

Er  of  this  book  an  ende  I make 

Now  come  I to  my  tale  ageyn. 

But  aldirfirst  I wole  you  seyn 
The  fasoun  and  the  countenaunces 
Of  all  the  folk  that  on  the  daunce  is. 
The  God  of  Love,  jolyf  and  lyght, 
Ladde  on  his  honde  a lady  bright, 

Of  high  prys  and  of  grete  degre; 

This  lady  called  was  Beaute, 

As  an  arowe  of  which  1 tolde, 

Ful  wel  [y-]thewed  was  she  holde; 

Ne  she  was  derk,  ne  broun,  but  bright, 
And  clere  as  [is]  the  mone  lyght, 
Ageyn  whom  all  the  sterres  semen 
But  smale  candels,  as  we  demen. 

Hir  flesh  was  tendre  as  dewe  of  flour, 

H ir  chere  was  symple  as  byrde  in  bour, 
As  whyte  as  lylye  or  rose  in  rys; 

Hir  face  gentyl  and  tretys, 

Fetys  she  was,  and  smale  to  se ; 

No  wyntred  browis  hadde  she, 

Ne  popped  hir,  for  it  neded  nought 
To  wyndre  hir,  or  to  peynte  hir  ought. 
Hir  tresses  yelowe,  and  longe  straughten 
U nto  hir  helys  doun  they  raughten  ; 


A ful  grete  savour  and  a swote 
Me  toucheth  in  myn  herte  rote, 

As  helpe  me  god,  whan  I remembre 
Of  the  fasoun  of  every  membre. 

In  world  is  noon  so  faire  a wight  ; 

For  yonge  she  was,  and  hewed  bright. 
Sore  plesaunt,  and  fetys  with  all, 

Gente,  and  in  hir  myddill  small. 

Biside  Beaute  yede  richesse, 

An  high  lady  of  gret  noblesse, 

And  gret  of  prys  in  everv  place ; 

But  who  so  durste  to  hir  trespace, 

Or  til  hir  folk,  in  word  or  dede, 

He  were  full  hardy,  out  of  drede. 

For  bothe  she  helpe  and  hyndre  may  ; 
And  that  is  nought  of  yisterday, 

That  riche  folk  have  full  gret  myght 
To  helpe,  and  eke  to  greve  a wyght. 
The  leste  and  grettest  of  valour 
Diden  Rychesse  ful  gret  honour, 

And  besy  weren  hir  to  serve, 

For  that  they  wolde  hir  love  deserve. 
They  cleped  h ir  “ Lady,”  grete  and  small ; 
This  wide  world  hir  dredith  all, 

This  world  is  all  in  hir  daungere. 

Hir  court  hath  many  a losengere, 

And  many  a traytour  envvous, 

That  ben  ful  besy  and  curyous 
Forto  dispreisen  and  to  blame 
That  best  deserven  love  and  name. 
Bifore  the  folk,  hem  to  bigilen, 
Theselosengerishemprevse,andsmylen, 
And  th  us  the  world  with  word  anoynten  ; 
And  aftirward  thev  prille,  and  poynten 
The  folk  right  to  the  bare  boon, 
Bihynde  her  bak  whan  thev  ben  goon. 
And  foule  abate  the  folkis  prys. 


Hir  nose,  hir  mouth,  and  ey he,  and  cheke  Ful  many  a worthv  man,  v-wvs 
Wel  wrought,  and  all  the  remenaunt  eke.  An  hundrid,  have  do  to  dye 

14 


. 


v 


. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


These  losengers  thorough  flaterye; 

And  make  folk  ful  straunge  be 
There  hem  oughte  be  pryve. 

Wei  yvel  mote  they  thryve  and  thee, 
And  yvel  arryved  mote  they  be. 

These  losengers  ful  of  envye ; 

No  good  man  loveth  her  companye. 
Richesse  a robe  of  purpur  on  hadde, 

Ne  trowe  not  that  I lye  or  madde, 

For  in  this  world  is  noon  hir  lyche, 

Ne  by  a thousand  deel  so  riche, 

Ne  noon  so  faire ; for  it  ful  well 
With  orfrays  leyd  was  everydeell 
And  portraied  in  the  ribanynges 
Of  dukes  storyes,  and  of  kynges, 

And  with  a bend  of  gold  tasseled. 

And  knoppis  fyne  of  gold  ameled. 
Aboute  hir  nekke  of  gentyl  entayle 
Was  shete  the  riche  chevesaile, 

In  which  ther  was  ful  gret  plente 
Of  stones  clere  and  bright  to  see. 
Rychesse  a girdell  hadde  upon, 

The  bokele  of  it  was  of  a stoon, 

Of  vertu  gret  and  mochel  of  myght ; 
For  who  so  bare  the  stoon  so  bright. 

Of  venym  durst  hym  no  thing  doute. 
While  he  the  stoon  hadde  hym  aboute. 
That  stoon  was  gretly  forto  love, 

And,  tyl  a riche  mannys  byhove, 

Worth  all  the  gold  in  Rome  and  Frise. 
The  mourdaunt  wrought  in  noble 
wise 

Was  of  a stoon  full  precious. 

That  was  so  fyne  and  vertuous 
That  hole  a man  it  koude  make 
Of  palasie,  and  [of]  tothe  ake. 

And  yit  the  stoon  hadde  such  a grace 
That  he  was  siker  in  every  place. 

All  thilke  day  not  blynde  to  bene, 

i 


That  fastyng  myght  that  stoon  [have] 
seene. 

The  barres  were  of  gold  ful  fyne 
Upon  a tyssu  of  satyne, 

Full  hevy,  gret,  and  no  thyng  lyght. 

In  everiche  was  a besaunt-wight. 

Upon  the  tresses  of  Richesse 
Was  sette  a cercle,  for  noblesse, 

Of  brend  gold  that  full  lyghte  shoon. 
So  faire  trowe  I was  never  noon. 

But  she  were  kunnyng  for  the  nonys. 
That  koude  devyse  alle  the  stonys. 
That  in  that  cercle  shewen  clere. 

It  is  a wondir  thing  to  here, 

For  no  man  koude  preyse  or  gesse 
Of  hem  the  valewe  or  richesse. 

Rubyes  there  were,saphires,  jagounces. 
And  emeraudes  more  than  two  ounces. 
But  all  byfore  ful  sotilly 
A fyn  charboncle  sette  saugh  I ; 

The  stoon  so  clere  was  and  so  bright. 
That  also  soone  as  it  was  nyght, 

Men  myght [e]  seen  to  go  for  nede 
A myle  or  two  in  lengthe  and  brede. 
Sich  lyght  sprang  oute  of  the  stone, 
That  Richesse  wondir  brighte  shone, 
Bothe  hir  heed  and  all  hir  face, 

And  eke  aboute  hir  al  the  place. 

Dame  Richesse  on  hir  honde  gan  lede 
A yong  man  full  of  semelyhede, 

That  she  best  loved  of  ony  thing. 

His  lust  was  mych  in  housholding, 

In  clothyng  was  he  ful  fetys. 

And  loved  to  have  well  hors  of  prys ; 
He  wende  to  have  reproved  be 
Of  theft  or  moordre,  if  that  he 
Hadde  in  his  stable  ony  hakeney. 

And  therfore  he  desired  ay 

5 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


To  be  aqueynted  with  Richesse, 

For  all  his  purpos,  as  I gesse, 

Was  forto  make  gret  dispense 
Withoute  wernyng  or  diffense; 

And  Richesse  myght  it  wel  sustene 
And  hir  dispence  well  mayntene, 

And  hym  alwey  sich  plente  sende 
Of  gold  and  silver  forto  spende 
Withoute  lakking  or  daunger, 

As  it  were  poured  inva  garner. 

And  after  on  the  daunce  wente 
Largesse,  that  sette  al  hir  entente 
Forto  be  honourable  and  free. 

Of  Alexandres  kyn  was  she ; 

Hir  moste  joye  was  y-wys 
Whan  that  she  yaf,  and  seide,  “Have 
this.” 

Not  Avarice,  the  foule  caytyf, 

Was  half  to  gripe  so  ententyf, 

As  Largesse  is  to  yeve  and  spende ; 

And  god  ynough  alwey  hir  sende. 

So  that  the  more  she  yaf  awey 
The  more  y-wys  she  hadde  alwey. 

Gret  loos  hath  Largesse  and  gret  pris, 
For  bothe  wyse  folk  and  unwys 
Were  hooly  to  hir  baundon  brought. 

So  wel  with  yiftes  hath  she  wrought. 
And  if  she  hadde  an  enemy, 

I trowe  that  she  coude  tristely 
Make  hym  full  soone  hir  freend  to  be, 

So  large  of  yift  and  free  was  she. 
Therfore  she  stode  in  love  and  grace 
Of  riche  and  pover  in  every  place. 

A full  gret  fool  is  he  y-wys 
That  bothe  riche  and  nygart  is; 

A lord  may  have  no  maner  vice 
That  greveth  more  than  avarice  ; 

For  nygart  never  withstrengtheof  honde 

1 6 


May  wynne  gret  lordship  or  londe ; 

For  freendis  all  to  fewe  hath  he 
To  doon  his  will  perfourmed  be. 

And  who  so  wole  have  freendis  heere, 
He  may  not  holde  his  tresour  deere. 

For  by  ensample  I telle  this, 

Right  as  an  adamaund  y-wys 
Can  drawen  to  hym  sotylly 
The  yren  that  is  leid  therby, 

So  drawith  folkes  hertis  y-wis 
Silver  and  gold  that  yeven  is. 

Largesse  hadde  on  a robe  fresh 
Of  riche  purpur  Sarsynesh. 

Wel  fourmed  was  hir  face  and  cleere. 
And  opened  hadde  she  hir  colere ; 

For  she  right  there  hadde  in  present 

Unto  a lady  maad  present 

Of  a gold  broche,  ful  wel  wrought. 

And  certys  it  myssatte  hir  nought, 

For  thorough  hir  smokke  wrought  with 
silk 

The  flesh  was  seen  as  white  as  mylk. 
Largesse,  that  worthy  was  and  wys, 
Hilde  by  the  honde  a knyght  of  prys, 
Was  sibbe  to  Artour  of  Britaigne, 

And  that  was  he  that  bare  the  ensaigne 
Of  worship,  and  the  gounfanoun. 

And  yit  he  is  of  sich  renoun 
That  men  of  hym  seye  faire  thynges 
Byfore  barouns,  erles,  and  kynges. 

This  knyght  was  comen  all  newly 
Fro  [a]  tourneiyng  taste  by. 

Ther  hadde  he  don  gret  chyvalrie 
Through  his  vertu  and  his  maistrie. 

And  for  the  love  of  his  lemman 
He  caste  doun  many  a doughty  man. 
And  next  hym  daunced  dame  Fraunchise, 
Arayed  in  full  noble  gyse. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


She  was  not  broune  ne  dunne  of  hewe, 
But  white  as  snowe  y-fallen  newe. 

Hir  nose  was  wrought  at  poynt  devys, 
For  it  was  gentyl  and  tretys, 

With  eyen  gladde  and  browes  bente, 

Hir  here  doun  to  hir  helis  wente ; 

And  she  was  symple  as  dowve  on  tree. 
Ful  debonaire  of  herte  was  she ; 

She  durst  neither  seyn  ne  do 
But  that  that  hir  longed  to. 

And  if  a man  were  in  distresse, 

And  for  hir  love  in  hevynesse 
Hir  herte  wolde  have  full  gret  pite, 

She  was  so  amiable  and  free. 

For  were  a man  for  hir  bistadde, 

She  wolde  ben  right  sore  adradde 
That  she  dide  over  gret  outrage ; 

But  she  hym  holpe  his  harme  to  aswage, 
Hir  thought  it  ell  a vylanye. 

And  she  hadde  on  a sukkenye 
That  not  of  hempe  ne  heerdis  was; 

So  fair  was  noon  in  all  Arras. 

Lord,  it  was  ridled  fetysly  ! 

Ther  nas  nat  a poynt  trewely 
That  it  nas  in  his  right  assise. 

Full  wel  y-clothed  was  Fraunchise, 

For  ther  is  no  cloth  sittith  bet 
On  damysell  than  doth  roket ; 

A womman  wel  more  fetys  is 
In  roket  than  in  cote  y-wis. 

The  whyte  roket,  rydled  faire, 
Bitokeneth  that  full  debonaire 
And  swete  was  she  that  it  bere. 

Bi  hir  daunced  a bachelere ; 

I can  not  telle  you  what  he  hight, 

But  faire  he  was  and  of  good  hight, 

All  hadde  he  be,  I sey  no  more, 

The  lordis  sone  of  Wyndesore. 

17 


And  next  that  daunced  Curtesye, 
That  preised  was  of  lowe  and  hye. 

For  neither  proude  ne  foole  was  she. 
She  forto  daunce  called  me, 

I pray  god  yeve  hir  right  good  grace 
Whanne  I come  first  into  the  place. 
She  was  not  nyce  ne  outrageous, 

But  wys  and  ware  and  vertuous; 

Of  faire  speche  and  of  faire  answere. 
Was  never  wight  mysseid  of  here, 

Ne  she  bar  rancour  to  no  wight. 

Clere  broune  she  was  and  therto  bright 
Of  face,  of  body  avenaunt; 

I wot  no  lady  so  plesaunt. 

She  were  worthy  forto  bene 
An  emperesse  or  crowned  quene. 

And  by  hir  wente  a knyght  dauncyng. 
That  worthy  was  and  wel  spekyng, 
And  ful  wel  koude  he  don  honour. 
The  knyght  was  faire  and  styf  in  stour. 
And  in  armure  a semely  man, 

And  welbiloved  of  his  lemman. 

Faire  Idilnesse  thanne  saugh  I, 

That  alwey  was  me  faste  by ; 

Of  hir  have  I withoute  fayle 
Told  yow  the  shap  and  apparayle. 

For,  as  I seide,  loo  that  was  she 
That  dide  to  me  so  gret  bounte, 

That  she  the  gate  of  the  gardyn 
Undide  and  lete  me  passen  in. 

And  after  daunced,  as  I gesse, 

Youthe  fulfilled  of  lustynesse, 

That  nas  not  yit  XII  yeer  of  age. 

With  herte  wylde  and  thought  volage. 
Nyce  she  was,  but  she  ne  mente 
Noon  harme  ne  slight  in  hir  entente, 

c 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


But  oonly  lust  and  jolyte; 

For  yonge  folk  wele  witen  ye 
Have  lytel  thought  but  on  her  play. 
Hir  lemman  was  biside  alway 
In  sich  a gise  that  he  hir  kyste 
At  alle  tymes  that  hym  lyste; 

That  all  the  daun^e  myght  it  see, 

They  make  no  force  of  pryvete ; 

For  who  spake  of  hem  yvel  or  well, 
They  were  ashamed  neveradell, 

But  men  myght  seen  hem  kisse  there, 
As  it  two  yonge  dowves  were. 

For  yong  was  thilke  bachelere, 

Of  beaute  wot  I noon  his  pere, 

And  he  was  right  of  sich  an  age 
As  Youthe  his  leef,  and  sich  corage. 

The  lusty  folk  that  daunced  there, 

And  also  other  that  with  hem  were, 
That  weren  all  of  her  meyne, 

Ful  hende  folk  and  wys  and  free 
And  folk  of  faire  port  trewely 
They  weren  alle  comunly. 
Whannelhaddeseenthecountenaunces 
Of  hem  that  ladden  thus  these  daunces, 
Thanne  hadde  I will  to  gon  and  see 
The  gardyne  that  so  lyked  me, 

And  loken  on  these  faire  loreres, 

On  pyntrees,  cedres,  and  olmeris. 

The  daunces  thanne  y-ended  were, 

For  many  of  hem  that  daunced  there 
Were  with  her  loves  went  awey, 
Undir  the  trees  to  have  her  pley. 

A lord  , they  lyved  lustyly  ! 

A gret  fool  were  he  sikirly 

That  nolde  his  thankes  such  lyf  lede. 

For  this  dar  I seyn  oute  of  drede, 

That  who  so  myghte  so  wel  fare. 

For  better  lyf  durst  hym  not  care; 


For  ther  nys  so  good  paradys 
As  to  have  a love  at  his  devys. 

Oute  of  that  place  wente  I thoo, 

And  in  that  gardyn  gan  I goo, 

Pleyyng  alonge  full  meryly. 

The  God  of  Love  full  hastely 
Unto  hym  Swete-Lokyng  clepte. 

No  lenger  wolde  he  that  he  kepte 
His  bowe  of  gold,  that  shoon  so  bright ; 
He  bad  hym  bend  it  anoon  ryght. 

And  he  full  soone  sette  an-ende, 

And  at  a braid  he  gan  it  bende ; 

And  toke  hym  of  his  arowes  fyve, 

Full  sharp  and  redy  forto  dryve. 

Now  god  that  sittith  in  mageste, 

Fro  deedly  woundes  he  kepe  me, 

If  so  be  that  he  hadde  me  shette  ! 

For  if  I with  his  arowe  mette, 

It  hadde  me  greved  sore  y-wys. 

But  I,  that  no  thyng  wist  of  this, 
Wente  up  and  doun  full  many  awey. 
And  he  me  folwed  faste  alwey ; 

But  no  where  wolde  I reste  me, 

Till  I hadde  in  all  the  gardyn  be. 

The  gardyn  was  by  mesuryng 
Right  evene  and  square  ; in  compassing 
It  was  as  long  as  it  was  large. 

Of  fruyt  hadde  every  tree  his  charge. 
But  it  were  any  hidous  tree. 

Of  which  ther  were  two  or  three. 
There  were,  and  that  wote  I full  well. 
Of  pome  garnettys  a full  gret  dell, 
That  is  a fruyt  full  well  to  lyke, 
Namely  to  folk  whanne  they  ben  sike. 
And  trees  there  were  of  gret  toisoun 
That  baren  nottes  in  her  sesoun 
Such  as  men  note  mvgges  calle. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  swote  of  savour  ben  withalle ; 

And  almanderes  gret  plente, 

Fyges,  and  many  a date  tree, 

There  wexen,  if  men  hadde  nede, 
Thorough  thegardyninlengthandbrede. 
Ther  was  eke  wexyng  many  a spice, 

As  clowe-gelofre,  and  lycorice, 
Gyngevre,  and  greyn  de  Paradys, 
Canell,  and  setewale  of  prys, 

And  many  a spice  delitable 
To  eten  whan  men  rise  fro  table. 

And  many  homly  trees  ther  were 
That  peches,  coynes,  and  apples  beere, 
Medlers,  plowmes,  perys,  chesteynis, 
Cherys,  of  which  many  oon  fayne  is, 
Notes,  aleys,  and  bolas, 

That  forto  seen  it  was  solas ; 

With  many  high  lorer  and  pyn 
Was  renged  clene  all  that  gardyn, 

With  cipres  and  with  olyveris, 

Of  which  that  nygh  no  plente  heere  is. 
There  were  elmes  grete  and  stronge, 
Maples,  asshe,  oke,  aspe,  planes  longe, 
Fyne  ew,  popler,  and  lyndes  faire, 

And  othere  trees  full  many  a payre — 
What  shulde  I tel  you  more  of  it? 
There  were  so  many  trees  yit, 

That  I shulde  al  encombred  be 
Er  I had  rekened  every  tree. 

These  trees  were  sette,  that  I devyse, 
One  from  another  in  assyse 
Fyve  fadome  or  sixe,  I trowe  so ; 

But  they  were  hye  and  great  also, 

And  for  to  kepe  out  wel  the  sonne, 

The  croppes  were  so  thicke  y-ronne. 
And  every  braunche  in  other  knette, 
And  ful  of  grene  leves  sette. 

That  sonne  myght  there  none  discende, 

i 


Lest  [it]  the  tender  grasses  shende. 
There  myght  men  does  and  roes  y-se. 
And  of  squyrels  ful  great  plente 
From  bowe  to  bowe  alwaye  lepynge  ; 
Connes  there  were  also  plaiynge, 

That  comyn  out  of  her  clapers, 

Of  sondrie  colours  and  maners, 

And  maden  many  a tourneiyng 
Upon  the  fresshe  grasse  spryngyng. 

In  places  sawe  I welles  there 
In  whiche  there  no  frogges  were, 

And  fayre  in  shadowe  was  every  welle. 
But  I ne  can  the  nombre  telle 
Of  stremys  smal,  that  by  devyse 
Myrthehaddonecomethroughcondyse ; 
Of  whiche  the  water  in  rennyng 
Gan  make  a noyse  ful  lykyng. 

About  the  brinkes  of  these  welles 
And  by  the  stremes  over  al  elles 
Sprange  up  the  grasse,  as  thicke  y-set 
And  softe  as  any  veluet, 

On  whiche  men  myght  his  lemman  ley 
As  on  a fetherbed  to  pley. 

For  the  erthe  was  ful  softe  and  swete. 
Through  moisture  of  the  welle  wete 
Spronge  up  the  sote  grene  gras 
As  fayre,  as  thicke,  as  myster  was. 

But  moche  amended  it  the  place 
That  therthe  was  of  suche  a grace 
That  it  of  floures  hath  plente, 

That  bothe  in  somer  and  wynter  be. 
There  sprange  the  vyolet  al  newe, 

And  fresshe  pervynke  riche  of  hewe. 
And  floures  yelowe,  white,  and  rede, 
Suche  plente  grewe  there  never  in  mede. 
Ful  gayewas  al  thegrounde,andqueynt 
And  poudred,  as  men  had  it  peynt 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


With  manyafresshe  and  sondrie  floure, 
That  casten  up  ful  good  savour. 

I wol  nat  longe  holde  you  in  fable 
Of  al  this  garden  delectable, 

I mote  my  tonge  stynten  nede; 

For  I ne  maye  withouten  drede 
Naught  tellen  you  the  beaute  al, 

Ne  halfe  the  bounte  there  with  al. 

I went  on  right  honde  and  on  lefte 
About  the  place ; it  was  nat  lefte 
Tyl  I had  al  the  garden  [in]  bene, 

In  the  esters  that  men  myghte  sene. 
And  thus  while  I wente  in  my  playe 
The  God  of  Love  me  folowed  aye, 
Right  as  an  hunter  can  abyde 
The  beest,  tyl  he  seeth  his  tyde 
To  shoten  at  good  messe  to  the  dere, 
Whan  that  hym  nedeth  go  no  nere. 

And  so  befyl  I rested  me 
Besydes  a wel  under  a tree, 

Whiche  tree  in Frauncemencalapyne ; 
But  sithe  the  tyme  of  kyng  Pepyne, 
Ne  grewe  there  tree  in  mannes  syght 
So  fayre,  ne  so  wel  woxe  in  hight, 

In  al  that  yarde  so  high  was  none. 

And  springyng  in  a marble  stone 
Had  nature  set,  the  sothe  to  telle, 
Under  that  pyne  tree  a welle ; 

And  on  the  border  al  withoute 
Was  written  in  the  stone  aboute 
Letters  smal,  that  sayden  thus: 

“H  ere  starfe  the  fayre  Narcisus.” 

Narcisus  was  a bachelere 

That  Love  had  caught  in  his  daungere, 

And  in  his  nette  gan  hym  so  strayne, 


And  dyd  him  so  to  wepe  and  playne. 
That  nede  him  must  his  lyfe  forgo. 

For  a fayre  lady  that  hight  Echo 
Him  loved  over  any  creature, 

And  gan  for  hym  suche  payne  endure. 
That  on  a tyme  she  him  tolde 
That,  if  he  her  loven  nolde, 

That  her  behoved  nedes  dve, 

There  laye  none  other  remedye. 

But  nathelesse  for  his  beaute 
So  feirs  and  daungerous  was  he 
That  he  nolde  graunte  hir  askyng, 

For  wepyng  ne  for  faire  praiyng. 

And  whanne  she  herd  hym  werne  soo. 
She  hadde  in  herte  so  gret  woo, 

And  took  it  in  so  gret  dispite, 

That  she  withoute  more  respite 
Was  deed  anoon.  But  er  she  deied 
Full  pitously  to  god  she  preied, 

That  proude-hertid  Narcisus, 

That  was  in  love  so  daungerous, 
Myght  on  a day  be  hampred  so 
For  love,  and  ben  so  hoot  for  woo, 
That  never  he  myght  to  joye  atteyne. 
Than  he  shulde  feele  in  every  veyne 
What  sorowe  trewe  lovers  maken 
That  ben  so  velaynesly  forsaken. 

This  prayer  was  but  resonable, 
Therfore  god  helde  it  ferme  and  stable. 
For  Narcisus,  shortly  to  telle, 

By  aventure  come  to  that  welle. 

To  resten  hym  in  that  shadowing 
A day  whanne  he  come  fro  huntyng. 
This  Narcisus  hadde  suffred  paynes 
For  rennyng  alday  in  the  playnes. 

And  was  for  thurst  in  grete  distresse 

Of  beet,  and  of  his  werynesse 

That  hadde  his  breth  almost  bynomen. 


20 


i 

I . , 

- 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Whanne  he  was  to  thatwelle  y-comen. 
That  shadowid  was  with  braunches 
grene. 

He  thoughte  of  thilke  water  shene 
Todrynke,andfresshehymwelwithalle ; 
And  doun  on  knees  he  gan  to  falle, 
Andforthhisheedandneckeout-straught 
To  drynken  of  that  welle  a draught. 
And  in  the  water  anoon  was  sene 
His  nose,  his  mouth,  his  yen  shene, 

And  he  therof  was  all  abasshed ; 

His  owneshadowehadhymbytrasshed, 
For  well  wende  he  the  forme  see 
Of  a child  of  gret  beaute. 

Well  kouthe  Love  hym  wreke  thoo 
Of  daunger  and  of  pride  also, 

That  Narcisus  somtyme  hym  beere. 
Hequyttehymwellhisguerdoun  there; 
For  he  musede  so  in  the  welle 
That,  shortly  all  the  sothe  to  telle, 

He  lovede  his  owne  shadowe  soo, 

That  atte  laste  he  starf  for  woo. 

For  whanne  he  saugh  that  he  his  wille 
Myght  in  no  maner  way  fulfille, 

And  that  he  was  so  faste  caught 
That  he  hym  kouthe  comforte  nought, 
He  loste  his  witte  right  in  that  place, 
And  deyde  withynne  a lytel  space. 

And  thus  his  warisoun  he  took 
Fro  the  lady  that  he  forsook. 

Ladyes  I preye  ensample  takith. 

Ye  that  ageyns  youre  love  mistakith ; 
For  if  her  deth  be  yow  to  wite, 

God  kan  ful  well  youre  while  quyte. 
Whanne  that  this  lettre  of  which  I telle 
Hadde  taught  me  that  it  was  the  welle 
Of  Narcisus  in  his  beaute, 

I gan  anoon  withdrawe  me, 

Whanne  it  felle  in  my  remembraunce 


That  hym  bitidde  such  myschaunce. 
But  at  the  laste  thanne  thought  I 
That  scatheles  full  sykerly 
I myght  unto  the  welle  goo — 

Wherof  shulde  I abaisshen  soo  ? 

Unto  the  welle  than  went  I me, 

And  doun  I loutede  forto  see 
The  clere  water  in  the  stoon, 

And  eke  the  gravell  which  that  shoon 
Down  in  the  botme  as  silver  fyn. 

For  of  the  well  this  is  the  fyn, 

In  world  is  noon  so  clere  of  hewe. 

The  water  is  evere  fresh  and  newe 
That  welmeth  up  with  wawis  bright 
The  mountance  of  two  fynger  hight. 
Abouten  it  is  gras  spryngyng 
For  moiste  so  thikke  and  wel  likyng, 
That  it  ne  may  in  wynter  dye 
No  more  than  may  the  see  be  drye. 

Downe  at  the  botme  sette  sawe  I 
Two  cristall  stonys  craftely 
In  thilke  freshe  and  faire  welle. 

But  o thing  sothly  dar  I telle 
That  ye  wole  holde  a gret  mervayle 
Whanne  it  is  tolde,  withouten  fayle. 
For  whanne  the  sonne  clere  in  sight 
Cast  in  that  welle  his  bemys  bright, 
And  that  the  heete  descendid  is, 
Thanne  taketh  the  cristall  stoon  y-wis 
Agayn  the  sonne  an  hundrid  hewis, 
Blewe,  yelowe,  and  rede  that  fresh  and 
newe  is. 

Yitt  hath  the  merveilous  cristall 
Such  strengthe,  that  the  place  overall, 
Bothe  flour,  and  tree,  and  leves  grene. 
And  all  the  yerde  in  it  is  seene. 

And  forto  don  you  to  undirstonde. 

To  make  ensample  wole  I fonde. 


21 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Ryght  as  a myrrour  openly 
Shewith  alle  thing  that  stont  therby, 
As  well  the  colour  as  the  figure, 
Withouten  ony  coverture  ; 

Right  so  the  cristall  stoon  shynyng, 
Withouten  ony  disseyvyng, 

The  estrees  of  the  yerde  accusith, 

To  hym  that  in  the  water  musith. 

For  evere  in  which  half  that  ye  be 
Ye  may  well  half  the  gardyne  se  ; 

And  if  he  turne,  he  may  right  well 
Sene  the  remenaunt  everydell. 

For  ther  is  noon  so  litil  thyng 
So  hidde  ne  closid  with  shittyng, 

That  it  ne  is  sene  as  though  it  were 
Peyntid  in  the  cristall  there. 

This  is  the  mirrour  perilous, 

In  which  the  proude  Narcisus 
Sawe  all  his  face  faire  and  bright ; 
That  made  hym  swithe  to  lie  upright. 
For  who  so  loketh  in  that  mirrour, 
Ther  may  no  thyng  ben  his  socour, 
That  he  ne  shall  there  sene  some  thyng 
That  shal  hym  lede  into  lovyng. 

Full  many  worthy  man  hath  it 
Y-blent,  for  folk  of  grettist  wit 
Ben  soone  caught  heere  and  awayted ; 
Withouten  respite  ben  they  baited. 
Heere  comth  to  folk  of  newe  rage, 
Heere  chaungith  many  wight  corage ; 
Heere  lith  no  rede  ne  witte  therto, 

For  Venus  sone,  daun  Cupido, 

Hath  sowen  there  of  love  the  seed. 
That  help  ne  lith  there  noon,  ne  rede, 
So  cerclith  it  the  welle  aboute. 

His  gynnes  hath  he  sett  withoute, 
Ryght  forto  cacche  in  his  panters 
These  damoysels  and  bachelers. 

Love  will  noon  other  bridde  cacche 


Though  he  sette  either  nette  or  lacche. 
And  for  the  seed  that  heere  was  sowen 
This  welle  is  clepid,  as  well  is  knowen. 
The  Welle  of  Love  of  verray  right, 

Of  which  ther  hath  ful  many  a wight 
Spoke  in  bookis  dyversely. 

But  they  shull  never  so  verily 
Descripcioun  of  the  welle  heere, 

Ne  eke  the  sothe  of  this  matere, 

As  ye  shull,  whanne  I have  undo 
The  craft  that  hir  bilongith  to. 

Allway  me  liked  forto  dwelle 
To  sene  the  cristall  in  the  welle, 

That  shewide  me  full  openly 
A thousand  thinges  faste  by. 

But  I may  say  in  sory  houre 
Stode  I to  loken  or  to  poure, 

For  sithen  [have]  I sore  siked  ; 

That  mirrour  hath  me  now  entriked. 
But  hadde  I first  knowen  in  my  wit 
The  vertue  and  [the]  strengthe  of  it, 

I nolde  not  have  mused  there  ; 

Me  had  bette  bene  ellis  where, 

For  in  the  snare  I fell  anoon 
That  hath  bitresshed  many  oon. 

In  thilke  mirrour  sawe  I tho, 

Among  a thousand  thinges  mo, 

A roser  chargid  full  of  rosis, 

That  with  an  hegge  aboute  enclos  is. 
Tho  had  I sich  lust  and  envie, 

That  for  Parys,  ne  for  Pavie, 

Nolde  I have  left  to  goon  and  see 
There  grettist  hepe  ot  roses  be. 
Whanne  I was  with  this  rage  hent, 
That  caught  hath  many  a man  and  shent. 
Toward  the  roser  gan  I go. 

And  whanne  I was  not  ter  therfro, 

The  savour  of  the  roses  swote 


22 


. 

i 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Me  smote  right  to  the  herte  rote. 

As  I hadde  all  embawmed  be. 

And  if  I ne  hadde  endouted  me 
To  have  ben  hatid  or  assailed, 

My  thankis  wolde  I not  have  failed 
To  pulle  a rose  of  all  that  route 
To  beren  in  myn  honde  aboute, 

And  smellen  to  it  where  I wente  ; 

But  ever  I dredde  me  to  repente, 

And  leste  it  grevede  or  forthought 
The  lord  that  thilke  gardyn  wrought. 
Of  roses  ther  were  grete  wone, 

So  faire  waxe  never  in  rone. 

Of  knoppes  clos  some  sawe  I there, 
And  some  wel  beter  woxen  were ; 
And  some  ther  ben  of  other  moysoun, 
That  drowe  nygh  to  her  sesoun, 

And  spedde  hem  faste  forto  sprede. 

I love  well  sich  roses  rede, 

For  brode  roses  and  open  also 
Ben  passed  in  a day  or  two. 

But  knoppes  wille  [al]  freshe  be 
Two  dayes  atte  leest  or  thre. 

The  knoppes  gretly  liked  me, 

For  fairer  may  ther  no  man  se. 
Who-so  myght  have  oon  of  all, 

It  ought  hym  ben  full  lief  withall ; 
Might  I gerlond  of  hem  geten. 

For  no  richesse  I wolde  it  leten. 
Among  the  knoppes  I chese  oon 
So  faire,  that  of  the  remenaunt  noon 
No  preise  I half  so  well  as  it, 

Whanne  I avise  it  in  my  wit. 

For  it  so  well  was  enlumyned 
With  colour  reed,  [and]  as  well  fyned 
As  nature  couthe  it  make  faire ; 

And  it  hath  leves  wel  foure  paire, 
That  kynde  hath  sett  thorough  his 
knowyng 


Aboute  the  rede  roses  spryngyng. 

The  stalke  was  as  rishe  right, 

And  theron  stode  the  knoppe  upright, 
That  it  ne  bowide  upon  no  side. 

The  swote  smelle  spronge  so  wide, 

That  it  dide  all  the  place  aboute. 
Whanne  I haddesmelledthesavourswote. 
No  will  hadde  I fro  thens  yit  goo  ; 

Bot  somdell  neer  it  wente  I thoo 
To  take  it,  but  myn  hond  for  drede 
Ne  dorste  I to  the  rose  bede 
For  thesteles  sharpe  of  many  maneeres, 
Netles,  thornes,  and  hokede  breres  ; 

For  myche  they  distourbled  me, 

That  sore  I dradde  to  harmed  be. 

The  God  of  Love  with  bowe  bent, 

That  all  day  sette  hadde  his  talent 
To  pursuen  and  to  spien  me, 

Was  stondyng  by  a fige  tree. 

And  whanne  he  sawe  how  that  I 
Hadde  chosen  so  ententifly 
The  bothoun  more  unto  my  paie 
Than  ony  other  that  I say, 

He  toke  an  arowe  full  sharply  whette, 
And  in  his  bowe  whanne  it  was  sette, 

He  streight  up  to  his  ere  drough 
The  stronge  bowe,  that  was  so  tough, 
And  shette  att  me  so  wondir  smerte, 
That  thorough  myn  ye  unto  myn  herte 
The  takel  smote,  and  depe  it  wente. 

And  therwith-all  such  colde  me  hente. 
That,  under  clothes  warme  and  softe, 
Sithen  that  day  I have  chevered  ofte. 
Whanne  I was  hurt  thus,  in  [a]  stounde 
I felle  doun  platte  unto  the  grounde ; 
Myn  herte  failed  and  feynted  ay, 

And  longe  tyme  a-swoone  I lay. 

But  whanne  I come  out  of  swounyng, 

23 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  hadde  witt  and  my  felyng, 

I was  all  maate,  and  wende  full  well 
Of  bloode  have  loren  a full  gret  dell. 
But  certes  the  arowe  that  in  me  stode 
Of  me  ne  drewe  no  drope  of  blode. 

For  why  I foun^e  my  wounde  alldreye. 
Thanne  toke  I with  myn  hondis  tweie 
The  arowe,  and  ful  fast  out  it  plight, 
And  in  the  pullyng  sore  I sight  ; 

So  at  the  last  the  shaft  of  tree 
I drough  out  with  the  fethers  thre 
But  yet  the  hokede  heed  y-wis. 

The  which  that  Beaute  callid  is, 

Gan  so  depe  in  myn  herte  pace 
That  I it  myghte  nought  arace  ; 

But  in  myn  herte  still  it  stode. 

A1  bledde  I not  a drope  of  blode. 

I was  bothe  anguyssous  and  trouble 
For  the  perill  that  I sawe  double. 

I nyste  what  to  seye  or  do, 

Ne  gete  a leche  my  woundis  to  ; 

For  neithir  thorough  gras  ne  rote 
Ne  hadde  I helpe  of  hope  ne  bote. 

But  to  the  bothoun  evermo 
Myn  herte  drewe,  for  all  my  wo  ; 

My  thought  was  in  noon  other  thing, 
For  hadde  it  ben  in  my  kepyng, 

It  wolde  have  brought  my  lyf  agayn. 
For  certis  evenly,  I dar  wel  seyn, 

The  sight  oonly  and  the  savour 
Alegged  mych  of  my  langour. 

Thanne  gan  I forto  drawe  me 
Toward  the  bothon  faire  to  se. 

And  Love  hadde  gete  hym  in  this  throwe 
Another  arowe  into  his  bowe, 

And  forto  shete  gan  hym  dresse  ; 

The  arowis  name  was  Symplesse. 

And  whanne  that  Love  gan  nyghe  me 
mere. 


He  drowe  it  up  withouten  were, 

And  shette  at  me  with  all  his  mvght ; 

So  that  this  arowe  anoon  right 
Thourghout  [myn]eigh,asitwasfounde. 
Into  myn  herte  hath  maad  a wounde. 
Thanne  I anoon  dide  al  my  crafte, 
Forto  drawen  out  the  shafte  ; 

And  therwith-all  I sighede  efte, 

But  in  myn  herte  the  heed  was  lefte. 
Which  ay  encreside  my  desire, 

Unto  the  bothon  drawe  nere. 

And  evermo  that  me  was  woo. 

The  more  desir  hadde  I to  goo 
Unto  the  roser,  where  that  grewe 
The  freysshe  bothun  so  bright  of  hewe. 
Betir  me  were  to  have  laten  be, 

But  it  bihovede  nede  me 
To  done  right  as  myn  herte  badde. 

For  evere  the  body  must  be  ladde 
Aftir  the  herte,  in  wele  and  woo; 

Of  force  togidre  they  must  goo. 

But  never  this  archer  wolde  feyne 
To  shete  at  me  with  all  his  peyne. 

And  forto  make  me  to  hym  mete, 

The  thridde  arowe  he  gan  to  shete, 
Whanne  best  his  tyme  he  myght  espie. 
The  which  was  named  Curtesie. 

Into  myn  herte  it  dide  avale. 

A-swoone  I fell  bothe  deed  and  pale. 
Long  tyme  I lay  and  stired  nought. 

Till  I abraide  out  of  my  thought. 

And  faste  thanne  I avysede  me 
To  drawe  out  the  shafte  of  tree ; 

But  evere  the  heed  was  left  bihynde. 
For  ought  I couthe  pulle  or  wynde. 

So  sore  it  stikid  whanne  I was  hit. 

That  by  no  craft  I mvght  it  dit. 

But  anguyssous  and  full  of  thought 
I felt  sich  woo  my  wounde  ay  wrought. 


24 


' 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  somonede  me  alway  to  goo 
Toward  the  rose,  that  plesede  me  soo. 
But  I ne  durste  in  no  manere, 

Bicause  the  archer  was  so  nere ; 

“For  evermore  gladly,”  as  I rede, 
“Brent  child  of  her  hath  myche  drede.” 
And  certis  yit,  for  al  my  peyne, 
Though  that  I sigh  yit  arwis  reyne. 
And  grounde  quarels  sharpe  of  steele, 
Ne  for  no  payne  that  I myght  feele, 
Yit  myght  I not  my-silf  witholde 
The  faire  roser  to  biholde. 

For  Love  me  yaf  sich  hardement 
Forto  fulfille  his  comaundement, 

Upon  my  fete  I rose  up  thanne, 

Feble  as  a forwoundid  man. 

And  forth  to  gon  [my]  myght  I sette, 
And  for  the  archer  nolde  I lette. 
Toward  the  roser  fast  I drowe, 

But  thornes  sharpe  mo  than  ynowe 
Ther  were,  and  also  thisteles  thikke 
And  breres  brymme  forto  prikke. 

That  I ne  myghte  gete  grace 
The  rowe  thornes  forto  passe, 

To  sene  the  roses  fresshe  of  hewe. 

I must  abide,  though  it  me  rewe. 

The  hegge  aboute  so  thikke  was, 

That  closide  the  roses  in  compas. 

But  o thing  lyked  me  right  wele; 

I was  so  nygh  I myghte  fele 
Of  the  bothon  the  swote  odour. 

And  also  se  the  fresshe  colour. 

And  that  right  gretly  liked  me. 

That  I so  neer  myght  it  se. 

Sich  joie  anoon  therof  hadde  I, 

That  I forgate  my  maladie ; 

To  sene  I hadde  siche  delit, 

Of  sorwe  and  angre  I was  al  quyte, 
And  of  my  woundes  that  I hadde  thore. 


For  no  thing  liken  me  myght  more 
Than  dwellen  by  the  roser  ay, 

And  thennes  never  to  passe  away. 

But  whanne  a while  I hadde  be  thare. 
The  god  of  Love,  which  alto-share 
Myn  herte  with  his  arwis  kene, 

Cast  hym  to  yeve  me  woundis  grene. 
He  shette  at  me  full  hastily 
An  arwe  named  Company, 

The  whiche  takell  is  full  able 
To  make  these  ladies  merciable. 
Thanne  I anoon  gan  chaungen  hewe 
For  grevaunce  of  my  wounde  newe. 
That  I agayn  fell  in  swounyng, 

And  sighede  sore  in  compleynyng. 
Soore  I compleyned  that  my  sore 
On  me  gan  greven  more  and  more. 

I hadde  noon  hope  of  allegeaunce ; 

So  nygh  I drowe  to  desperaunce, 

I roughte  [ne]  of  deth  ne  lyf. 

Wheder  that  Love  wolde  me  dryf, 

Yf  me  a martir  wolde  he  make, 

I myght  his  power  nought  forsake. 

And  while  for  anger  thus  I woke, 

The  God  of  Love  an  arowe  toke ; 

Ful  sharpe  it  was  and  [ful]  pugnaunt. 
And  it  was  callid  Faire  Semblaunt, 

The  which  in  no  wise  wole  consente. 
That  ony  lover  hym  repente 
To  serve  his  love  with  herte  and  all 
For  ony  perill  that  may  bifall. 

But  though  this  arwe  was  kene  grounde. 
As  ony  rasour  that  is  founde 
To  kutte  and  kerve,  at  the  poynt 
The  God  of  Love  it  hadde  anoynt 
With  a precious  oynement, 

Somdell  to  yeve  aleggement 
Upon  the  woundes  that  he  hadde 
Through  the  body  in  my  herte  made, 
25  D 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


To  helpe  her  sores  and  to  cure, 

And  that  they  may  the  bette  endure. 

But  yit  this  arwe,  withoute  more, 

Made  in  myn  herte  a large  sore, 

That  in  full  grete  peyne  I abode. 

But  ay  the  oyne^nent  wente  abrode, 
Thourgh-outemy  woundeslarge&  wide 
It  spredde  aboute  in  every  side. 

Through  whos  vertu  and  whos  myght 
Myn  herte joyfull  was  and  light; 

I hadde  ben  deed  and  alto-shent 
But  for  the  precious  oynement. 

The  shaft  I drowe  out  of  the  arwe, 
Roukyng  for  wo  right  wondir  narwe, 
But  the  heed,  which  made  me  smerte, 
Lefte  bihynde  in  myn  herte 
With  other  foure,  I dar  wel  say. 

That  never  wole  be  take  away. 

But  the  oynement  halpe  me  wele; 

And  yit  sich  sorwe  dide  I fele 
That  al  day  I chaunged  hewe 
Of  my  woundes  fresshe  and  newe. 

As  men  myght  se  in  my  visage, 

The  arwis  were  so  full  of  rage, 

So  variaunt  of  diversitee, 

That  men  in  everiche  myght  se 
Bothe  gret  anoy,  and  eke  swetnesse 
And  joie  meynt  with  bittirnesse. 

Now  were  they  esy,  now  were  they  wode, 
In  hem  I felte  bothe  harme  and  goode ; 
Now  sore  without  aleggement, 

Now  softyng  with  the  oynement ; 

It  softed  heere  and  prikked  there, 

Thus  ese  and  anger  to-gidre  were. 

The  God  of  Love  delyverly 
Come  lepande  to  me  hastily, 

And  seide  to  me  in  gret  rape, 

“Yelde  thee,  for  thou  may  not  escape, 
May  no  defence  availe  thee  heere  ; 

26 


Therfore  I rede  make  no  daungere. 

If  thou  wolt  yelde  thee  hastely. 

Thou  shalt  [the]  rather  have  mercy. 
He  is  a foole  in  sikernesse, 

That  with  daunger  or  stoutenesse 
Rebellith  there  that  he  shulde  plese; 
In  sich  folye  is  litel  ese. 

Be  meke  where  thou  must  nedis  bowe. 
To  stryve  ageyn  is  nought  thi  prowe ; 
Come  at  oones  and  have  y-doo. 

For  I wole  that  it  be  soo. 

Thanne  yelde  thee  heere  debonairly.” 
And  I answerid  ful  hombly : 

“ Gladly  sir  at  youre  biddyng 
I wole  me  yelde  in  alle  thyng ; 

To  youre  servyse  I wole  me  take. 

For  god  defende  that  I shulde  make 
Ageyn  youre  biddyng  resistence, 

I wole  not  don  so  grete  offence. 

For  if  I dide,  it  were  no  skile ; 

Ye  may  do  with  me  what  ye  wile, 

Save  or  spille  and  also  sloo. 

Fro  you  in  no  wise  may  I goo, 

My  lyf,  my  deth  is  in  youre  honde, 

I may  not  laste  out  of  youre  bonde ; 
Pleyn  at  youre  lyst  I yelde  me, 
Hopyng  in  herte  that  sumtyme  ye 
Comfort  and  ese  shull  me  sende, 

Or  ellis  shortly,  this  is  the  eende, 
Withouten  helthe  I mote  ay  dure. 

But  if  ye  take  me  to  youre  cure. 
Comfort  or  helthe  how  shuld  I have, 
Sith  ye  me  hurt,  but  ye  me  save? 

The  helthe  of  love  mot  be  founde 
Where  as  they  token  firste  her  wounde. 
And  if  ye  lyst  of  me  to  make 
Youre  prisoner,  I wole  it  take 
Of  herte  and  willfully  at  gree; 

Hoolly  and  pleyn  y yelde  me, 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Withoute  feynyng  or  feyntise. 

To  be  governed  by  youre  emprise. 

Of  you  I here  so  mych  pris, 

I wole  ben  hool  at  youre  devis 
Forto  fulfille  youre  lykyng. 

And  repente  for  no  thyng, 

Hopyng  to  have  yit  in  some  tide 
The  mercy  of  that  I abide.” 

And  with  that  covenaunt  yelde  I me, 
Anoon  down  knelyng  upon  my  kne, 
Proferyng  forto  kisse  his  feete. 

But  for  no  thyng  he  wolde  me  lete, 
Andseide,“Ilovetheebotheandpreise, 
Sens  that  thyn  answer  doth  me  ese, 
For  thou  answerid  so  curteisly. 

For  now  I wote  wel  uttirly 
That  thou  art  gentyll  by  thi  speche ; 
For,  though  a man  fer  wolde  seche, 
He  shulde  not  fynden  in  certeyn 
No  sich  answer  of  no  vileyn, 

For  sich  a word  ne  myghte  nought 
Isse  out  of  a vilayns  thought. 

Thou  shalt  not  lesen  of  thi  speche, 

For  [to]  thy  helpyng  wole  I eche, 

And  eke  encresen  that  I may. 

But  first  I wole  that  thou  obaye 
Fully  for  thyn  avauntage, 

Anoon  to  do  me  heere  homage  ; 

And  sithe  kisse  thou  shalt  my  mouthe, 
Which  to  no  vilayn  was  never  couthe 
Forto  aproche  it  ne  forto  touche. 

For  sauff  of  cherlis  I ne  vouche 
That  they  shull  never  neigh  it  nere ; 
For  curteis  and  of  faire  manere, 

Well  taught  and  full  of  gentilnesse. 

He  muste  ben  that  shal  me  kysse ; 

And  also  of  full  high  fraunchise. 

That  shal  atteyne  to  that  emprise. 

And  first  of  o thing  warne  I thee, 


That  peyne  and  gret  adversite 
He  mote  endure,  and  eke  travaile, 
That  shal  me  serve  withoute  fade. 

But  ther  ageyns  thee  to  comforte, 

And  with  thi  servise  to  desporte. 

Thou  mayst  full  glad  and  joyfull  be 
So  good  a maister  to  have  as  me, 

And  lord  of  so  high  renoun. 

I bere  of  love  the  gonfenoun, 

Of  curtesie  the  banere. 

For  I am  of  the  silf  manere, 

Gentil,  curteys,  meke,  and  fre, 

That  who  ever  ententyf  be 
Me  to  honoure,  doute,  and  serve, 

Nede  is  that  he  hym  observe 
Fro  trespasse  and  fro  vilanye, 

And  hym  governe  in  curtesie 
With  will  and  with  entencioun. 

For  whanne  he  first  in  my  prisoun 
Is  caught,  thanne  must  be  uttirly 
Fro  thennes  forth  full  bisily 
Caste  hym  gentyll  forto  bee 
If  he  desire  helpe  of  me.” 

Anoon  withoute  more  delay, 
Withouten  daunger  or  affray, 

I bicome  his  man  anoon, 

And  gave  hym  thankes  many  a oon, 
And  knelide  doun  with  hondis  joynt. 
And  made  it  in  my  port  full  quoint. 
The  joye  wente  to  myn  herte  rote, 
Whanne  I hadde  kissed  his  mouth  so 
swote ; 

I hadde  sich  myrthe  and  sich  likyng 
It  cured  me  of  langwisshing. 

He  askide  of  me  thanne  hostages. 

“I  have,”  he  seide,“  taken  fele  homages 
Of  oon  and  other,  where  I have  bene 
Disceyved  ofte  withouten  wene. 

These  felouns  full  of  falsite 


27 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Have  many  sithes  biguyled  me, 

And  through  falshede  her  lust  achieved, 
Whereof  I repente  and  am  agreved. 

And  I hem  gete  in  my  daungere. 

Her  falshede  shull  they  bie  full  dere  ! 

But  for  I love  thee,  I seie  thee  pleyn, 

I wole  of  thee  be  more  certeyn. 

For  thee  so  sore  I wole  now  bynde, 

That  thou  away  ne  shalt  not  wynde 
Forto  denyen  the  covenaunt 
Or  don  that  is  not  avenaunt. 

That  thou  were  fals  itwere  gret  reuthe, 
Sith  thou  semest  so  full  of  treuthe.” 
“Sire,  if  thee  lyst  to  undirstande, 

I merveile  the  askyng  this  demande. 

For  why  or  wherfore  shulde  ye 
Ostages,  or  borwis  aske  of  me. 

Or  ony  other  sikirnesse, 

Sith  ye  wote  in  sothfastnesse 
That  ye  have  me  susprised  so, 

And  hole  myn  herte  taken  me  fro, 

That  it  wole  do  for  me  no  thing 
But  if  it  be  at  youre  biddyng; 

Myn  herteisyoures  and  myn  right  nought 
As  it  bihoveth  in  dede  and  thought, 
Redy  in  all  to  worche  youre  will, 
Whether  so  turne  to  good  or  ill. 

So  sore  it  lustith  you  to  plese, 

No  man  therof  may  you  desese. 

Ye  have  theron  sette  sich  justice, 

That  it  is  werreid  in  many  wise. 

And  if  ye  doute  it  nolde  obeye. 

Ye  may  therof  do  make  a keye, 

And  holde  it  with  you  for  ostage.” 
“Now  certis  this  is  noon  outrage,” 

Quod  Love,  “and  fully  I acorde; 

For  of  the  body  he  is  full  lord 
That  hath  the  herte  in  his  tresour; 
Outrage  it  were  to  asken  more.” 

28 


Thanne  of  his  awmener  he  drough 
A litell  keye,  fetys  ynowgh, 

Which  was  of  gold  polisshed  clere ; 
And  seide  to  me,  “With  thiskeve  heere 
Thyn  herte  to  me  now  wole  I shette ; 
For  all  my  jowell,  loke  and  knette, 

I bynde  undir  thislitel  keye, 

That  no  wight  may  carie  aweye. 

This  keye  is  full  of  gret  poste.” 

With  which  anoon  he  touchide  me 
Under  the  side  full  softily, 

That  he  myn  herte  sodeynly 
Without  anoye  hadde  spered, 

That  yit  right  nought  it  hath  me  dered. 
Whanne  he  hadde  don  his  will  al  oute. 
And  I hadde  putte  hym  out  of  doute, 
“Sire,”  I seide,  “I  have  right  gret  wille 
Youre  lust  and  plesaunce  to  fulfille. 
Loke  ye  my  servise  take  atte  gree 
By  thilke  feith  ye  owe  to  me. 

I seye  nought  for  recreaundise, 

For  I nought  doute  of  youre  servise. 
But  the  servaunt  traveileth  in  vayne, 
That  forto  serven  doth  his  payne 
Unto  that  lord  which  in  no  wise 
Kan  hym  no  thank  for  his  servyse.” 
Love  seide,  “Dismaie  thee  nought, 

Syn  thou  for  sokour  hast  me  sought ; 
In  thank  thi  servise  wole  I take 
And  high  of  gre  I wole  thee  make, 

If  wikkidnesse  ne  hvndre  thee; 

But  as  I hope  it  shal  nought  be, 

To  worshipe  no  wight  by  aventure 
May  come,  but  if  he  peyne  endure; 
Abide  and  suffre  thy  distresse 
That  hurtith  now  ; it  shal  be  lesse. 

I wote  my  silf  what  may  thee  save. 
What  medicyne  thou  woldist  have; 
And  if  thi  trouthe  to  me  thou  kepe. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 
I shal  unto  thyn  helpyng  eke,  Maad  of  newe  and  lusty  thyng. 


T o cure  thy  woundes  and  make  hem  clene, 
Where  so  they  be  olde  or  grene ; 

Thou  shalt  be  holpen  at  wordis  fewe. 
For  certeynly  thou  shalt  well  shewe 
Wherethat  thouservestwith  goodwille 
Forto  accomplysshen  and  fulfille 
My  comaundementis  day  and  nyght 
Whiche  I to  lovers  yeve  of  right.” 

<c  Ah  Sire,  for  goddis  love,”  seide  I, 

“ Er  ye  passe  hens  ententyfly, 

Youre  comaundementis  to  me  ye  say, 
And  I shall  kepe  hem  if  I may. 

For  hem  to  kepen  is  all  my  thought. 
And  if  so  be  I wote  hem  nought, 
Thanne  may  I [erre]  unwityngly. 
Wherfore  I pray  you  entierly. 

With  all  myn  herte  me  to  lere, 

That  I trespasse  in  no  manere.” 

The  God  of  Love  thanne  chargide  me, 
Anoon  as  ye  shall  here  and  see, 

Worde  by  worde  by  right  emprise, 

So  as  the  Romance  shall  devise. 

The  maister  lesith  his  tyme  to  lere 
Whanne  the  disciple  wole  not  here ; 

It  is  but  veyn  on  hym  to  swynke 
That  on  his  lernyng  wole  not  thynke. 
Who  so  luste  love,  late  hym  entende, 
For  now  the  Romance  bigynneth  to 
amende ; 

Now  is  good  to  here  in  fay 
If  ony  be  that  can  it  say, 

And  poynte  it  as  the  resoun  is. 

Set  forth  [an]  other  gate  ywys, 

It  shall  nought  well  in  alle  thyng 
Be  brought  to  good  undirstondyng. 

For  a reder  that  poyntith  ille 
A good  sentence  may  ofte  spille. 

The  book  is  good  at  the  eendyng 


For  who  so  wole  the  eendyng  here, 
The  crafte  of  love  he  shall  mowe  lere, 
If  that  ye  wole  so  long  abide 
Tyl  I this  Romance  may  unhide, 

And  undo  the  signifiance 
Of  this  dreme  into  Romance. 

The  sothfastnesse  that  now  is  hidde 
Without  coverture  shall  be  kidde, 
Whanne  I undon  have  this  dremyng, 
Wherynne  no  word  is  of  lesyng. 

“ Vylanye  at  the  bigynnyng 
I wole,”  sayde  Love,  “ over  alle  thyng 
Thou  leve,  if  thou  wolt  nought  be 
Fals  and  trespasse  ageyns  me. 

I curse  and  blame  generaly 
All  hem  that  loven  vilanye. 

For  vilanye  makith  vilayn, 

And  by  his  dedis  a cherle  is  seyn. 

Thise  vilayns  arn  withouten  pitee, 
Frendshipe,  love,  and  all  bounte. 

I nyl  resseyve  unto  my  servise 
Hem  that  ben  vilayns  of  emprise. 

But  undirstonde  in  thyn  entent 
That  this  is  not  myn  entendement, 

To  clepe  no  wight  in  noo  ages 
Oonly  gentill  for  his  lynages. 

But  who  so  [that]  is  vertuous, 

And  in  his  port  nought  outrageous, 
Whanne  sich  oon  thouseest  thee  biforn. 
Though  he  be  not  gentill  born. 

Thou  maist  well  seyn  this  is  in  soth, 
That  he  is  gentil  by  cause  he  doth 
As  longeth  to  a gentilman, 

Of  hym  noon  other  deme  I can. 

For  certeynly  withouten  drede 
A cherle  is  demed  by  his  dede 
Of  hie  or  lowe,  as  ye  may  see. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Or  of  what  kynrede  that  he  bee. 

Ne  say  nought,  for  noon  yvel  wille, 
Thyng  that  is  to  holden  stille ; 

It  is  no  worshipe  to  mysseye, 

Thou  maist  ensample  take  of  Keye, 
That  was  somtyrpe,  for  mysseiyng. 
Hated  bothe  of  olde  and  ying. 

As  fer  as  Gaweyn  the  worthy 
Was  preised  for  his  curtesie, 

Kay  was  hated,  for  he  was  fell, 

Of  word  dispitous  and  cruell. 
Wherfore  be  wise  and  aqueyntable, 
Goodly  of  word  and  resonable, 

Bothe  to  lesse  and  eke  to  mare. 
Andwhanne  thou  comestthere  men  are, 
Loke  that  thou  have  in  custome  ay 
First  to  salue  hym,  if  thou  may  ; 

And  if  it  fall  that  of  hem  somme 
Salue  thee  first,  be  not  domme. 

But  quyte  hym  curteisly  anoon, 
Without  abidyng,  er  they  goon. 

For  no  thyng  eke  thy  tunge  applye 
To  speke  wordis  of  rebaudrye ; 

To  vilayne  speche  in  no  degre 
Late  never  thi  lippe  unbounden  be, 
For  I nought  holde  hym,  in  good  feith, 
Curteys  that  foule  wordis  seith. 

And  alle  wymmen  serve  and  preise, 
And  to  thy  power  her  honour  reise; 
And  if  that  ony  myssaiere 
Dispise  wymmen,  that  thou  maist  here. 
Blame  hym  and  bidde  hym  holde  hym 
stille. 

And  set  thy  myght,  and  all  thy  wille, 
Wymmen  and  ladies  forto  please. 

And  to  do  thyng  that  may  hem  ese. 
That  they  ever  speke  good  of  thee; 
For  so  thou  maist  best  preised  be. 

Loke  fro  pride  thou  kepe  thee  wele. 


For  thou  maist  bothe  perceyve  and  fele. 
That  pride  is  bothe  foly  and  synne. 

And  he  that  pride  hath  hym  withvnne, 
Ne  may  his  herte  in  no  wise 
Meken  ne  souplen  to  servyse. 

For  pride  is  founde  in  everv  part 
Contrarie  unto  loves  art, 

And  he  that  loveth  trew[e]ly 
Shulde  hym  contene  jolily 
Withoute  pride  in  sondry  wise, 

And  hym  disgysen  in  queyntise; 

For  queynte  array  withoute  drede 
Is  no  thyng  proude,  who  takith  hede ; 
For  fresh  array,  as  men  may  see, 
Withoute  pride  may  ofte  be. 

Mayntene  thy  silf  aftir  thi  rent, 

Of  robe  and  eke  of  garnement ; 

For  many  sithe  faire  clothyng 
A man  amendith  in  mych  thyng. 

And  loke  alwev  that  they  be  shape, 
What  garnement  that  thou  shalt  make. 
Of  hym  that  kan  [hem]  beste  do 
With  all  that  perteyneth  therto. 
Poyntis  and  sieves  be  well  sittande, 
Right  and  streght  on  the  hande ; 

Of  shone  and  bootes  newe  and  faire, 
Loke  at  the  leest  thou  have  a paire, 

And  that  they  sitte  so  fetisly, 

That  these  ruyde  may  uttirly 
Merveyle,  si th  that  they  sitte  so  plevn. 
How  they  come  on  or  off  ageyn. 

Were  streite  gloves  with  awmere 
Of  silk,  and  alwey  with  good  chere 
Thou  yeve,  if  thou  have  [gret]  richesse  ; 
And  if  thou  have  nought,  spende  the  lesse. 
Alwey  be  mery,  if  thou  may. 

But  waste  not  thi  good  ahvay. 

Have  hatte  of  doures  as  fresh  as  Mav, 
Chapelett  of  roses  of  Wissonday  ; 

30 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


For  sich  array  ne  costneth  but  lite. 
Thyn  hondis  wasshe,  thy  teeth  make 
white, 

And  lete  no  filthe  upon  thee  bee ; 

Thy  nailes  blak  if  thou  maist  see, 
Voide  it  awey  delyverly  ; 

And  kembe  thyn  heed  right  jolily. 
Farce  not  thi  visage  in  no  wise, 

For  that  of  love  is  not  themprise, 

For  love  doth  haten,  as  I fynde, 

A beaute  that  cometh  not  of  kynde. 
Alwey  in  herte,  I rede  thee, 

Glad  and  mery  forto  be ; 

And  be  as  joyfull  as  thou  can, 

Love  hath  no  joye  of  sorowful  man. 
That  yvell  is  full  of  curtesie 
That  lowith  in  his  maladie. 

For  ever  of  love  the  sikenesse 
Is  meynde  with  swete  and  bitternesse. 
The  sore  of  love  is  merveilous, 

For  now  [is]  the  lover  joyous, 

Now  can  he  pleyne,  now  can  he  grone, 
Now  can  he  syngen,  now  maken  mone ; 
To  day  he  pleyneth  for  hevynesse, 

To  morowe  he  pleyeth  for  jolynesse. 
The  lyf  of  love  is  full  contrarie, 

Which  stounde-mele  can  ofte  varie. 
But  if  thou  canst  mirthis  make, 

That  men  in  gre  wole  gladly  take, 

Do  it  goodly,  I comaunde  thee. 

For  men  shulde,  where  soevere  they  be, 
Do  thing  that  [to]  hem  sittyng  is  ; 

For  therof  cometh  good  loos  and  pris. 
Where-of  that  thou  be  vertuous 
Ne  be  not  straunge  ne  daungerous, 

For  if  that  thou  good  ridere  be, 

Prike  gladly  that  men  may  [the]  se. 

In  armes  also,  if  thou  konne, 

Pursue  tyl  thou  a name  hast  wonne. 


And  if  thi  voice  be  faire  and  clere 
Thou  shalt  make  [no]  gret  daungere 
Whanne  to  synge  they  goodly  prey. 

It  is  thi  worship  fortobeye. 

Also  to  you  it  longith  ay 
Toharpeandgitterne,daunceandplay ; 
For  if  he  can  wel  foote  and  daunce, 

It  may  hym  greetly  do  avaunce. 
Among  eke,  for  thy  lady  sake. 

Songes  and  complayntes  [se]  that  thou 
make, 

For  that  wole  meven  in  her  herte, 
Whanne  they  reden  of  thy  smerte. 
Loke  that  no  man  for  scarce  thee  holde, 
For  that  may  greve  thee  many  folde  ; 
Resoun  wole  that  a lover  be 
In  his  yiftes  more  large  and  fre 
Than  cherles  that  kan  naught  of lovyng. 
For  who  therof  can  ony  thyng. 

He  shall  be  leef  ay  forto  yeve, 

In  loves  lore  who  so  wolde  leve. 

For  he  that  through  a sodeyn  sight, 

Or  for  a kyssyng,  anoon  right 
Yaffhoole  hisherteinwilland  thought, 
And  to  hym  silf  kepith  right  nought, 
Aftir  swich  gift  is  good  resoun 
He  yeve  his  good  [al]  in  abandoun. 

Now  wole  I shortly  heere  reherce 
Of  that  I have  seid  in  verce 
Al  the  sentence  by  and  by, 

In  wordis  fewe  compendiously. 

That  thou  thebetmaystonhemthynke. 
Whether  so  it  be  thou  wake  or  wynke. 
For  the  wordis  litel  greve 
A man  to  kepe,  whanne  it  is  breve. 
Who  so  with  love  wole  goon  or  ride. 
He  mote  be  curteis  and  voide  of  pride, 
Mery,  and  full  ofjolite, 

31 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  of  largesse  alosed  be. 

Firste  I joyne  thee  heere  in  penaunce 
That  evere,  withoute  repentaunce. 

Thou  sette  thy  thought  in  thy  lovyng 
To  laste  withoute  repentyng, 

And  thenke  upon^thi  myrthis  swete, 
That  shall  folowe  aftir,  whan  ye  mete. 
And  for  thou  trewe  to  love  shalt  be, 

I wole,  and  comaunde  thee 
That  in  oo  place  thou  sette  all  hoole 
Thyn  herte,  withoute  halfen  doole 
Of  trecherie  and  sikernesse; 

For  I lovede  nevere  doublenesse. 

To  many  his  herte  that  wole  departe, 
Everiche  shal  have  but  litel  parte ; 

But  of  hym  drede  I me  right  nought 
That  in  oo  place  settith  his  thought. 
Therfore  in  oo  place  it  sette. 

And  lat  it  nevere  thennys  flette. 

For  if  thou  yevest  it  in  lenyng, 

I holde  it  but  a wrecchid  thyng. 
Therfore  yeve  it  hoole  and  quyte. 

And  thou  shalt  have  the  more  merite  ; 

If  it  be  lent,  that  aftir  soone 
The  bounte  and  the  thank  is  doone, 

But  in  love  fre  yeven  thing 
Requyrith  a gret  guerdonyng. 

Yeve  it  in  yift  al  quyte  fully. 

And  make  thi  yifte  debonairly, 

For  men  that  yifte  holde  more  dere 
That  yeven  [is]  with  gladsome  chere. 
That  yifte  nought  to  preisen  is 
That  man  yeveth  maugre  his. 

Whanne  thou  hastyeven  thyn  herte, as  I 
Have  seid  [to]  thee  heere  openly, 
Thanne  aventures  shull  thee  fall 
Which  harde  and  hevy  ben  with-all. 

For  ofte,  whan  thou  bithenkist  thee 
Of  thy  lovyng,  where  so  thou  be, 

32 


Fro  folk  thou  must  departe  in  hie. 

That  noon  perceyve  thi  maladie. 

But  hyde  thyne  harme  thou  must  alone. 
And  go  forthe  sole,  and  make  thy  mone. 
Thou  shake  no  whyle  be  in  o state, 

But  whylom  colde  and  whilom  hate, 
Nowereed  as  rose,nowyelowe  and  fade. 
Suche  sorowe  I trowe  thou  never  hade ; 
Cotidien,  ne  quarteyne, 

It  is  nat  so  ful  of  peyne. 

For  often  tymes  it  shal  fal 
In  love,  among  thy  paynes  al, 

That  thou  thy  selfe  al  holy 
Foryeten  shake  so  utterly. 

That  many  tymes  thou  shake  be 
Styl  as  an  ymage  of  tree, 

Domme  as  a stone,  without  steryng 
Of  fote  or  honde,  without  spekyng. 

Than,  soone  after  al  thy  payne, 

To  memorye  shake  thou  come  agayne, 
A man  abasshed  wonder  sore. 

And  after  syghen  more  and  more. 

For  wytte  thou  wele,  withouten  wene. 
In  suche  astate  ful  ofte  have  bene, 

That  have  the  yvel  of  love  assayde, 
Wherthrough  thou  arte  so  dismayde. 
After  a thought  shal  take  the  so, 

That  thy  love  is  to  ferre  the  fro ; 
Thoushaltesaye‘God ! Whatmay  thisbe 
That  I ne  maye  my  lady  se  ? 

Myne  herte  alone  is  to  her  go, 

And  I abyde  al  sole  in  wo. 

Departed  fro  myne  owne  thought. 

And  with  myne  eyen  se  right  nought. 

Alas ! myne  eyen  send  I ne  may 
My  careful  herte  to  convay  ! 

Myne  hertes  gyde  but  they  be, 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


I prayse  nothyng  what  ever  they  se. 

Shul  they  abyde  than  ? nay, 

But  gone  visyte  without  delay. 

That  myne  herte  desyreth  so. 

For  certainly,  but  if  they  go, 

A foole  my  selfe  I maye  wel  holde, 

Whan  I ne  se  what  myne  hert  wolde. 

Wherfore  I wol  gone  her  to  sene, 

For  eased  shal  I never  bene. 

But  I have  some  tokenyng.’ 

Than  gost  thou  forthe  without  dwelly  ng. 

But  ofte  thou  faylest  of  thy  desyre, 

Er  thou  mayst  come  her  any  nere, 

And  wastest  in  vayn  thi  passage. 

Thanne  fallest  thou  in  a newe  rage; 

For  want  of  sight,  thou  gynnest  morne, 
Andhomewardepensyfthoudostretorne. 

In  greet  myscheef  thanneshaltthou  bee, 

For  thanne  agayne  shall  come  to  thee 
Sighes  and  pleyntes  with  newe  woo, 

That  no  yecchyng  prikketh  soo. 

Who  wote  it  nought,  he  may  go  lere 
Of  hem  that  bien  love  so  dere. 

No  thyng  thyn  herte  appesen  may 
That  ofte  thou  wole  goon  and  assay, 

If  thou  maist  seen  by  aventure 
Thi  lyves  joy,  thine  hertis  cure. 

So  that  bi  grace  if  thou  myght 
Atteyne  of  hire  to  have  a sight, 

Thanneshalt  thou  done  noon  other  dede, 

But  with  that  sight  thyne  eyen  fede. 

That  faire  fresh  whanne  thou  maist  see, 

Thyne  herte  shall  so  ravysshed  be, 

Thatneverethouwoldest,thithankis,lete  It  shulde  have  be  more  worth  to  thee 


The  more  thine  herte  brenneth  in  her, 
The  more  thine  herte  is  in  desire. 

For  who  considreth  everydeell, 

It  may  be  likned  wondir  well 
The  peyne  of  love  unto  a fere. 

For  evermore  thou  neighest  nere, 

Thou  or  whoo  so  that  it  bee, 

For  verray  sothe  I tell  it  thee, 

The  hatter  evere  shall  thou  brenne, 

As  experience  shall  thee  kenne. 

Where  so  comest  in  ony  coost, 

Who  is  next  fuyre  he  brenneth  moost. 
And  yitt  forsothe  for  all  thine  hete, 
Though  thou  for  love  swelte  and  swete, 
Ne  for  no  thyng  thou  felen  may, 

Thou  shalt  not  willen  to  passen  away. 
And  though  thou  go,  yitt  must  thee  nede 
Thenke  alle  day  on  hir  fairhede, 

Whom  thou  biheelde  with  so  good  wille, 
And  holde  thi  silf  biguyled  ille 
That  thou  ne  haddest  noon  hardement 
To  shewe  hir  ought  of  thyne  entent. 
Thyn  herte  full  sore  thou  wolt  dispise, 
And  eke  repreve  of  cowardise, 

That  thou,  so  dulle  in  every  thing, 
Weredommefordredewithoutespekyng. 
Thou  shalt  eke  thenke  thou  didestfolye, 
That  thou  were  hir  so  faste  bye, 

And  durst  not  auntre  thee  to  say 
Som  thyng  er  thou  cam  away. 

For  thou  haddist  nomore  wonne, 

To  speke  of  hir  whanne  thou  bigonne, 
But  yitt  she  wolde,  for  thy  sake, 

In  armes  goodly  thee  have  take, 


Ne  remove  forto  see  that  swete. 

The  more  thou  seest,  in  sothfastnesse, 
The  more  thou  coveytest  of  that  swet- 
nesse; 


Than  of  tresour  gret  plente. 

Thus  shalt  thou  morne  and  eke 
compleyne, 

And  gete  enchesoun  to  goone  ageyne 

33  e 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Unto  the  walke,  or  to  the  place 
Where  thou  biheelde  hir  fleshly  face. 
And  never,  for  fals  suspeccioun. 

Thou  woldest  fynde  occasioun 
Forto  gone  unto  hire  hous. 

So  art  thou  thanne -desirous 
A sight  of  hir  forto  have, 

If  thou  thine  honour  myghtist  save, 

Or  ony  erande  myghtist  make, 

Thider  for  thi  loves  sake 
Full  fayn  thou  woldist,  but  for  drede 
Thou  gost  not,  lest  that  men  take  hede. 
Wherfore  I red  [the]  in  thi  goyng 
And  also  in  thyne  ageyn  comyng, 

Thou  be  well  ware  that  men  ne  wite; 
Feyne  thee  other  cause  than  itte 
To  go  that  weye  or  faste  bye  ; 

To  hele  wel  is  no  folye. 

And  if  so  be  it  happe  thee, 

That  thou  thi  love  there  maist  see. 

In  siker  wise  thou  hir  salewe, 
Wherewith  thi  colourwoletransmewe, 
And  eke  thy  blode  shal  alto  quake, 
Thyne  hewe  eke  chaungen  for  hir  sake  ; 
Butword  andwittewith  chere  full  pale 
Shull  wante  [the]  forto  tell  thy  tale. 
And  if  thou  maist  so  fer  forth  wynne, 
That  thou  [thi]  resoun  dorst  bigynne, 
And  woldist  seyn  thre  thingis  or  mo, 
Thou  shalt  full  scarsly  seyn  the  two. 
Though  thou  bithenke  thee  never  so  well, 
Thou  shalt  foryete  yit  somdell. 

But  if  thou  dele  with  trecherie ; 

For  fals  lovers  mowe  all  folye 
Seyn  what  hem  lust  withouten  drede. 
They  be  so  double  in  her  falshede ; 

For  they  in  herte  cunne  thenkeathyng. 
And  seyn  another  in  her  spekyng. 

And  whanne  thi  speche  is  eendid  all, 


Ryght  thus  to  thee  it  shall  byfall, 

If  ony  word  thanne  come  to  mynde 
That  thou  to  seye  hast  left  bihynde. 
Thanne  thou  shalt  brenne  in  gretmartire. 
For  thou  shalt  brenne  as  ony  fiere. 

This  is  the  stryf  and  eke  the  affray. 

And  the  batell  that  lastith  ay ; 

This  bargeyn  eende  may  never  take, 
But  if  that  she  thi  pees  will  make. 

And  whanne  the  nyght  is  comenanoon, 
A thousande  angres  shall  come  uppon. 
To  bedde  as  fast  thou  wolt  thee  dight. 
Where  thou  shalt  have  but  smal  delite; 
For  whanne  thou  wenest  forto  slepe 
So  full  of  peyne  shalt  thou  crepe, 

Sterte  in  thi  bedde  aboute  full  wide, 
And  turne  full  ofte  on  every  side. 

Now  dounward  groff  and  nowupright. 
And  walowe  in  woo  the  longe  nyght ; 
Thine  armys  shalt  thou  sprede  abrede 
As  man  in  werre  were  forwerede. 
Thanneshalltheecomearemembraunce 
Of  hir  shappe  and  hir  semblaunce. 
Whereto  none  other  may  be  pere. 

And  wite  thou  wel  withoute  were, 
That  thee  shal  [seme]  somtyme  that 
nyght 

That  thou  hast  hir,  that  is  so  bright, 
Naked  bitwene  thvne  armes  there, 

All  sothfastnesse  as  though  it  were. 
Thou  shalt  makecastels  thanne  in  Spavne 
And  dreme  of  joye,  all  but  in  vayne, 
And  thee  deliten  of  right  nought. 
While  thou  so  slomrest  in  that  thought. 
That  is  so  swete  and  delitable; 

The  which  in  soth[e]  nys  but  fable, 
For  it  ne  shall  no  while  laste. 

Thanne  shalt  thou  sighe  and  wepe  faste 
And  say,  ‘ Dere  god,  what  thing  is  this? 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 
My  dreme  is  turned  all  amys,  A loke  on  me  I-caste  goodly, 


Which  was  full  swete  and  apparent ; 

But  now  I wake,  it  is  al  shent ! 

How  yede  this  mery  thought  away  ! 
Twenty  tymes  upon  a day 
I wolde  this  thought  wolde  come  ageyne. 
For  it  aleggith  well  my  peyne ; 

It  makith  me  full  ofjoyfull  thought. 

It  sleth  me  that  it  lastith  noght 
A lord,  why  nyl  ye  me  socoure 
Fro  joye?  I trowe  that  I langoure; 
The  deth  I wolde  me  shulde  sloo 
While  I lye  in  hir  armes  twoo. 

Myne  harme  is  harde,  withouten  wene. 
My  gret  unease  full  ofte  I meene. 

But  wolde  love  do  so  I myght 
Have  fully  joye  of  hir  so  bright, 

My  peyne  were  quytte  me  rychely. 
Allas,  to  grete  a thing  aske  I ! 

Hit  is  but  foly  and  wrong  wenyng 
To  aske  so  outrageous  a thyng; 

And  who  so  askith  folily, 

He  mote  be  warned  hastily. 

And  I ne  wote  what  I may  say, 

I am  so  fer  out  of  the  way. 

For  I wolde  have  full  gret  likyng 
And  full  gret  joye  of  lasse  thing; 

For  wolde  she  of  hir  gentylnesse 
Withoute  more  me  oonys  kysse, 

It  were  to  me  a grete  guerdoun, 

Relees  of  all  my  passioun. 

But  it  is  harde  to  come  therto. 

All  is  but  folye  that  I do ; 

So  high  I have  myne  herte  sette 
Where  I may  no  comfort  gette ; 

I not  where  I seye  well  or  nought, 

But  this  I wote  wel  in  my  thought, 
That  it  were  better  of  hir  alloone, 

Forto  stynte  my  woo  and  moone, 


Than  forto  have  al  utterly 
Of  an  other  all  hoole  the  pley. 

A lord,  where  I shall  byde  the  day 
That  evere  she  shall  my  lady  be  ? 

He  is  full  cured  that  may  hir  see. 

A god,  whanne  shal  the  dawnyng 
springe  ? 

To  lye  thus  is  an  angry  thyng; 

I have  no  joye  thus  heere  to  lye 
Whanne  that  my  love  is  not  me  bye. 

A man  to  lye  hath  gret  disese, 

Which  may  not  slepe  ne  reste  in  ese. 

I wolde  it  dawed  and  were  now  day, 
And  that  the  nyght  were  went  away ; 
For  were  it  day  I wolde  uprise. 

A slowe  sonne,  shewe  thine  enprise ! 
Spede  thee  to  sprede  thy  beemys  bright. 
And  chace  the  derknesse  of  the  nyght, 
To  putte  away  the  stoundes  stronge, 
Whiche  in  me  lasten  all  to  longe  !’ 
The  nyght  shalt  thou  contene  soo 
Withoute  rest,  in  peyne  and  woo. 

If  evere  thou  knewe  of  love  distresse, 
Thoushaltmowelerne  inthatsicknesse. 
And  thus  enduryng  shalt  thou  lye, 

And  ryse  on  morwe  up  erly 
Out  of  thy  bedde,  and  harneyse  thee, 
Er  evere  dawnyng  thou  maist  see. 

All  pryvyly  thanne  shall  thou  goon, 
What  weder  it  be,  thi  silf  alloon, 

For  reyne  or  hayle,  for  snowe,  for  slete, 
Thider  she  dwellith  that  is  so  swete. 
The  which  may  fall  a-slepe  be, 

And  thenkith  hut  lytel  upon  thee. 
Thanne  shalt  thougoonfulfoule  a-feerd 
Loke  if  the  gate  be  unspered, 

And  waite  without  in  woo  and  peyne, 
Full  yvel  acoolde,  in  wynde  and  reyne. 
35 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Thanne  shal  thou  go  the  dore  bifore, 
If  thou  maist  fynde  ony  score, 

Or  hoole,  or  reeft  what  evere  it  were. 
Thanne  shalt  thou  stoupe,and  lay  toere, 
If  they  withynne  a-slepe  be — 

I mene  all  save  the-lady  free. 

Whom  wakyng  if  thou  maist  aspie, 

Go  putte  thi-silf  in  jupartie, 

To  aske  grace,  and  thee  bimene, 

That  she  may  wite  withoute  wene 
That  thou  [a-]nyght  no  rest  hast  hadde. 
So  sore  for  hir  thou  were  bystadde  ; 
Wommen  wel  ought  pite  to  take 
Of  hem  that  sorwen  for  her  sake. 

And  loke,  for  love  of  that  relyke, 

That  thou  thenke  noon  other  lyke ; 
For  whanne  thou  hast  so  gret  annoy, 
Shall  kysse  thee  er  thou  go  away, 

And  holde  that  in  full  gret  deynte. 

And  for  that  noman  shal  thee  see 
Bifore  the  hous,  ne  in  the  way, 

Loke  thou  be  goone  ageyn  er  day. 

Such  comyng  and  such  goyng, 

Such  hevynesse  and  such  wakyng 
Makith  lovers,  withouten  wene. 

Under  her  clothes  pale  and  lene. 

For  love  leveth  colour  ne  cleernesse, 
Who  loveth  trewe  hath  no  fatnesse  ; 
Thou  shalt  wel  by  thy-silf  [y-]see 
That  thou  must  nedis  assaied  be; 

For  men  that  shape  hem  other  weye 
Falsly  her  ladyes  to  bitraye. 

It  is  no  wonder  though  they  be  fatt, 
With  false  othes  her  loves  they  gatt. 
For  oft  I see  suche  losengours 
Fatter  than  abbatis  or  priours. 

Yit  with  o thing  I thee  charge. 

That  is  to  seye  that  thou  be  large 


Unto  the  mavde  that  hir  doith  serve. 

So  best  hir  thanke  thou  shalt  deserve. 
Yeve  hir  yiftes,  and  gete  hir  grace, 

For  so  thou  may  thank  purchace. 

That  she  thee  worthy  holde  and  free, 
Thi  lady,  and  all  that  may  thee  see. 

Also  hir  servauntes  worshipe  ay, 

And  please  as  mych  as  thou  may ; 

Grete  good  through  hem  may  come  to  thee 
Bi-cause  with  hir  they  ben  pryve ; 

They  shal  hir  telle  hoe  they  thee  fande 
Curteis,  and  wys,  and  well  doande. 

And  she  shall  preise  well  the  mare. 

Loke  oute  of  londe  thou  be  not  fare, 

And  if  such  cause  thou  have  that  thee 
Bihoveth  to  gone  out  of  contree, 

Leve  hoole  thin  herte  in  hostage, 

Till  thou  ageyn  make  thi  passage. 
Thenke  longe  to  see  the  swete  thyng. 
That  hath  thine  herte  in  hir  kepyng. 
Now  have  I tolde  thee  in  what  wise 
A lovere  shall  do  me  servise ; 

Do  it  thanne  if  thou  wolt  have 
The  meede  that  thou  aftir  crave.” 
Whanne  Love  all  this  hadde  boden  me, 

I seide  hym,  “Sire,  how  may  it  be 
That  lovers  may  in  such  manere 
Endure  the  pevne  ye  have  seid  heere? 

I merveyle  me  wonder  laste 

How  ony  man  may  lyve  or  laste 

In  such  peyne  and  [in]  such  brennyng; 

In  sorwe  and  thought,  and  such  sighing. 
Aye  unrelesed  woo  to  make, 

Whether  so  it  be  they  slepe  or  wake, 

In  such  annoy  contynuely, 

As  helpe  me  god,  this  merveile  I 
How  man,  but  he  were  maad  of  stele, 
Myght  lvve  a monthe  such  peynes  to 
fele.”  ' 


36 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


The  God  of  Love  thanne  seide  me, 
“Freend,  by  the  feith  I owe  to  thee. 
May  no  man  have  good  but  he  it  bye; 
A man  loveth  more  tendirly 
The  thyng  that  he  hath  bought  most  dere. 
For  wite  thou  well,  withouten  were. 

In  thanke  that  thyng  is  taken  more 
For  which  a man  hath  suffred  sore. 
Certis  no  wo  ne  may  atteyne 
Unto  the  sore  of  loves  peyne ; 

Noon  yvel  therto  ne  may  amounte, 
Nomore  than  a man  [may]  counte 
The  dropes  that  of  the  water  be. 

For  drye  as  well  the  greete  see 
Thou  myghtist,  as  the  harmes  telle 
Of  hem  that  with  love  dwelle 
In  servyse ; for  peyne  hem  sleeth, 

And  yet  ech  man  wolde  fle  the  deeth. 
And  trowe  thei  shulde  nevere  escape, 
Nere  that  hope  couthe  hem  make 
Glad,  as  man  in  prisoun  sett, 

And  may  not  geten  forto  ete 
But  barly  breed  and  watir  pure, 

And  lyeth  in  vermyn  and  in  ordure ; 
With  all  this  yitt  can  he  lyve. 

Good  hopesuch  comforthath  hymyive. 
Which  maketh  wene  that  he  shall  be 
Delyvered  and  come  to  liberte. 

In  fortune  is  [his]  full  trust, 

Though  he  lye  in  strawe  or  dust ; 

In  hoope  is  all  his  susteynyng. 

And  so  for  lovers  in  her  wenyng, 
WhicheLove  hathshitteinhis  prisoun. 
Good  hope  is  her  salvacioun. 

Good  hope  how  sore  that  they  smerte 
Yeveth  hem  bothe  will  and  herte 
To  profre  her  body  to  martire  ; 

For  hope  so  sore  doith  hem  desire 
To  suffre  ech  harme  that  men  devise 


For  joye  that  aftirward  shall  aryse. 

Hope  in  desire  hathe  victorie, 

In  hope  of  love  is  all  the  glorie, 

For  hope  is  all  that  love  may  yive ; 

Nere  hope  ther  shulde  no  lover  lyve. 
Blessid  be  hope,  which  with  desire 
Avaunceth  lovers  in  such  manere ! 

Good  hope  is  curteis  forto  please, 

To  kepe  lovers  from  all  disese ; 

Hope  kepith  his  bonde,  and  wole  abide 
For  ony  perill  that  may  betyde ; 

For  hope  to  lovers,  as  most  cheef, 

Doth  hem  endure  all  myscheef; 

Hope  is  her  helpe  whanne  myster  is. 

And  I shall  yeve  thee  eke  I-wys 
Three  other  thingis,  that  gret  solas 
Doith  to  hem  that  be  in  my  las. 

The  firste  good  that  may  be  founde 
To  hem  that  in  my  lace  be  bounde 
Is  Swete  Thought,  forto  recorde 
Thing  wherwith  thou  canst  accorde 
Best  in  thyne  herte,  where  she  be. 
Thenkyng  in  absence  is  good  to  thee. 
Whanne  ony  lover  doth  compleyne, 

And  lyveth  in  distresse  and  in  peyne, 
ThanneSwete-Thoughtshalcomeasblyve 
Awey  his  angre  forto  dryve. 

It  makith  lovers  to  have  remembraunce, 
Of  comfort  and  of  high  plesaunce. 

That  hope  hathhighthym forto wynne. 
ForThoughtanoonthanneshallbygynne, 
As  ferre,  god  wote,  as  he  can  fynde, 

To  make  a mirrour  of  his  mynde; 

Forto  biholde  he  wole  not  lette. 

Hir  persone  he  shall  afore  hym  sette, 

Hir  laughing  eyen,  persaunt  and  clere, 
Hirshappe,hirfourme,hirgoodlychere ; 
Hir  mouth,  that  is  so  gracious, 

37 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


swete  and  eke  so  saverous ; 

Of  all  hir  fetures  he  shall  take  heede, 
His  eyen  with  all  hir  lymes  fede. 

Thus  Swete-Thenkyng  shall  aswage 
The  peyne  of  lovers  and  her  rage. 

Thi  joye  shall  double  withoute  gesse 
Whannethouthenkistonhirsemlynesse, 
Or  of  hir  laughing,  or  of  hir  chere 
That  to  thee  made  thi  lady  dere. 

This  comfort  wole  I that  thou  take ; 
And  if  the  next  thou  wolt  forsake, 
Which  is  not  lesse  saverous, 

Thou  shuldist  ben  to  daungerous. 

The  secounde  shal  be  Swete-speche, 
That  hath  to  many  oon  be  leche 
To  bringe  hem  out  of  woo  and  were, 
And  holpe  many  a bachilere, 

And  many  a lady  sent  socoure, 

That  have  loved  paramour. 

Through  spekyng  whanne  they  myght 
heere 

Of  hir  lovers,  to  hem  so  dere. 

To  hem  it  voidith  all  her  smerte, 

The  which  is  closed  in  her  herte  ; 

In  herte  it  makith  hem  glad  and  light, 
Speche,whannetheymowehave[no]sight 
And  therfore  now  it  cometh  to  mynde 
In  olde  dawes,  as  I fynde, 

That  clerkis  writen  that  hir  knewe; 
Ther  was  a lady,  fresh  of  hewe, 

Which  of  hir  love  made  a songe, 

On  hym  forto  remembre  amonge. 

In whichsheseyde:  ‘Whannethat  I here 
Speken  of  hym  that  is  so  dere, 

To  me  it  voidith  alle  smerte. 

I-wys,  he  sittith  so  nere  myne  herte 
To  speke  of  hym  at  eve  or  morwe 
It  cureth  me  of  all  my  sorwe. 


To  me  is  noon  so  high  plesaunce 
As  of  his  persone  dalyaunce.’ 

She  wist  full  well  that  Swete-Spekyng 
Comfortith  in  full  myche  thyng. 

Hir  love  she  hadde  full  well  assaid, 

Of  him  she  was  full  well  apaid ; 

To  speke  of  hym  hir  joye  was  sett. 
Therfore  I rede  thee  that  thou  gett 
A felowe  that  can  well  concele, 

And  kepe  thi  counsell,  and  well  hele, 
To  whom  go  shewe  hoolly  thine  herte, 
Bothe  well  and  woo,  joye  and  smerte ; 
To  gete  comfort  to  hym  thou  goo, 
And  pryvyly  bitwene  yow  twoo 
Yee  shall  speke  of  that  goodly  thyng, 
That  hath  thyne  herte  in  hir  kepyng. 
Of  hir  beaute,  and  hir  semblaunce, 
And  of  hir  goodly  countenaunce  ; 

Of  all  thi  state,  thou  shalt  hym  seye, 
And  aske  hym  counseill  how  thou  may 
Do  ony  thyng  that  may  hir  plese ; 

For  it  to  thee  shall  do  gret  ese, 

That  he  may  wife  thou  trust  hym  soo, 
Bothe  of  thi  wele  and  of  thi  woo. 

And  if  his  herte  to  love  be  sett. 

His  companye  is  myche  the  bett, 

For  resoun  wole  he  shewe  to  thee 
All  uttirly  his  pryvyte, 

And  what  she  is  he  loveth  so. 

To  thee  pleynly  he  shall  undo, 
Withoute  drede  of  ony  shame, 

Bothe  tell  hir  renoun  and  hir  name. 
Thanne  shall  he  forther,  ferre  and  nere. 
And  namely  to  thi  lady  dere. 

In  syker  wise  yee  every  other 
Shall  helpen,  as  his  owne  brother, 

In  trouthe  withoute  doublenesse. 

And  kepen  cloos  in  sikernesse  ; 

For  it  is  noble  thing  in  fay 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


To  have  a man  thou  darst  say 
Thy  pryve  counsell  every  deell ; 

For  that  wole  comforte  thee  right  well, 
And  thou  shalt  holde  thee  well  apayed, 
Whanne  such  a freend  thou  hast  assayed. 

The  thridde  good  of  gret  comforte, 

That  yeveth  to  lovers  moste  disporte, 
Comyth  of  sight  and  of  biholdyng, 

That  clepid  is  Swete-lokyng. 

The  which  may  [thee]  noon  ese  do 
Whanne  thou  art  fer  thy  lady  fro. 
Wherfore  thou  prese  alwey  to  be 
In  place  where  thou  maist  hir  see. 

For  it  is  thyng  most  amerous. 

Most  delytable  and  saverous, 

Forto  a-swage  a mannes  sorowe, 

To  sene  his  lady  by  the  morwe. 

For  it  is  a full  noble  thing, 

Whanne  thyne  eyen  have  metyng 
With  that  relike  precious 
Wherof  they  be  so  desirous. 

But  al  day  after,  soth  it  is, 

They  have  no  drede  to  faren  amysse ; 
They  dreden  neither  wynde  ne  reyne, 
Ne  noon  other  maner  peyne. 

For  whanne  thyneeyen  were  thus  in  blisse, 
Yit  of  hir  curtesie,  y-wysse, 

Alloone  they  can  not  have  her  joye, 

But  to  the  herte  they  [it]  convoye ; 

Parte  oi  her  blisse  to  hym  they  sende, 
Of  all  this  harme  to  make  an  ende. 

The  eye  is  a good  messangere, 

Which  can  to  the  herte  in  such  manere 
Tidyngis  sende,  that  hath  sene 
To  voide  hym  of  his  peynes  clene. 
Wherof  the  herte  rejoiseth  soo, 

That  a gret  partye  of  his  woo 
Is  voided,  and  putte  awey  to  flight, 


Right  as  the  derknesse  of  the  nyght 
Is  chased  with  clerenesse  of  the  mone. 
Right  so  is  al  his  woo  full  soone 
Devoided  clene,  whanne  that  the  sight 
Biholden  may  that  freshe  wight 
That  the  herte  desireth  soo, 

That  al  his  derknesse  is  agoo. 

For  thanne  the  herte  is  all  at  ese, 
Whanne  the  eyen  sene  that  may  hem 
plese. 

Now  have  I declared  thee  all  oute 
Of  that  thou  were  in  drede  and  doute,. 
For  I have  tolde  thee  feithfully 
What  thee  may  curen  utterly. 

And  alle  lovers  that  wole  be 
Feithfull  and  full  of  stabilite. 

Good  hope  alwey  kepe  bi  thi  side. 

And  Swete-Thought,  make  eke  abide 
Swete-Lokyng  and  Swete-Speche. 

Of  all  thyne  harmes  thei  shall  be  leche  : 
Ofevery  thou  shalt  have  gret plesaunce, 
If  thou  canst  bide  in  suffraunce, 

And  serve  wel  withoute  feyntise  ; 
Thou  shalt  be  quyte  of  thyne  emprise 
Withmore  guerdoun,if  that  thou  lyve. 
But  at  this  tyme  this  I thee  yive.” 

The  God  of  Love,  whanne  al  the  day 
Had  taught  me  as  ye  have  herd  say, 
And  enfourmed  compendiously, 

He  vanyshide  awey  all  sodeynly  ; 

And  I alloone  lefte  all  soole. 

So  full  of  compleynt  and  of  doole. 

For  I sawe  no  man  there  me  by. 

My  woundes  me  greved  wondirly  ; 

Me  forto  curen  no  thyng  I knewe 
Save  the  bothon  bright  of  hewe, 
Wheron  was  sett  hoolly  my  thought.. 
Of  other  comfort  knewe  I nought, 

But  it  were  thrugh  the  God  of  Love.. 


39 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


I knewe  not  elles  to  my  bihove 
That  myght  me  ease  or  comfort  gete, 
But  if  he  wolde  hym  entermete. 

The  roser  was  withoute  doute 
Closed  with  an  haye  withoute, 

As  ye  toforn  have  herd  me  seyne. 

And  fast  I bisiede,  and  wolde  fayne 
Have  passed  the  hay,  if  [that]  I myght 
Have  geten  ynne  by  ony  slight 
Unto  the  bothon  so  faire  to  see. 

But  evere  I dradde  blamed  to  be, 

If  men  wolde  have  suspeccioun 
That  I wolde  of  entencioun 
Have  stole  the  roses  that  there  were  ; 
Therfore  to  entre  I was  in  fere. 

But  at  the  last,  as  I bithought, 
Whether  I shulde  passe  or  nought, 

I sawe  come  with  a glad  chere 
To  me  a lusty  bachelere, 

Of  good  stature  and  of  good  hight  ; 
And  Bialacoil  forsothe  he  hight, 
Sone  he  was  to  Curtesie. 

And  he  me  grauntide  full  gladly 
The  passage  of  the  outter  hay, 

And  seide,  “ Sir,  how  that  yee  may 
Passe,  if  [that]  youre  wille  be 
The  freshe  roser  forto  see, 

And  yee  the  swete  savour  fele, 

You  warrante  may  [I]  right  wele. 

So  thou  thee  kepe  fro  folye, 

Shall  no  man  do  thee  vylanye  ; 

If  I may  helpe  you  in  ought, 

I shall  not  feyne,  dredeth  nought, 

P'or  I am  bounde  to  youre  servise, 
Fully  devoide  of  feyntise.” 

Thanne  unto  Bialacoil  saide  I : 

“ I thanke  you,  sir,  full  hertely 
And  youre  biheeste  take  at  gre, 

That  ye  so  goodly  profer  me. 


To  you  it  cometh  of  gret  fraunchise 
That  ye  me  profer  youre  servise.” 
Thanne  aftir,  full  delyverly, 

Thorough  the  breres  anoon  wente  I, 
Wherof  encombred  was  the  hay. 

I was  wel  plesed,  the  soth  to  say, 

To  se  the  bothon  faire  and  swote 
So  freshe  spronge  out  of  the  rote. 

And  Bialacoil  me  served  well 
Whanne  I so  nygh  me  myghte  fele 
Of  the  bothon  the  swete  odour 
And  so  lusty  hewed  of  colour. 

But  thanneacherle  (foulehvmbityde !) 
Biside  the  roses  gan  hvm  hyde, 

To  kepe  the  roses  of  that  roser 
Of  whom  the  name  was  Daunger. 

This  cherle  was  hid  there  in  thegreves, 
Kovered  with  gras  and  with  leves, 

To  spie  and  take  whom  that  he  fonde 
Unto  that  Roser  putte  an  honde. 

He  was  not  soole,  for  ther  was  moo  ; 
For  with  hym  were  other  twoo 
Of  wikkid  maners  and  yvel  fame. 

That  oon  was  clepid  by  his  name 
WYKKED-ToNGE(godyevehymsorwe !), 
For  neither  at  eve  ne  at  morwe 
He  can  of  no  man  good  [ne]  speke ; 

On  many  a just  man  doth  he  wreke. 
Ther  was  a womman  eke  that  hight 
Shame,  that,  who  can  reken  right, 
Trespace  was  hir  fadir  name, 

Hirmoder  Resoun;  and  thus  was  Shame 
Brought  of  these  ilke  twoo. 

And  yitt  hadde  Trespasse  never  adoo 
With  Resoun,  ne  never  ley  hir  bye 
He  was  so  hidous  and  so  ugly, 

I mene  this  that  Trespas  hight  ; 

But  resoun  conceyved  of  a sight 
Shame,  of  that  I spake  aforne. 

40 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  whanne  that  Shame  was  thus  [y-] 
borne, 

It  was  ordeyned  that  Chastite 
Shulde  of  the  Roser  lady  be, 

Which  of  the  bothons  more  and  lasse 
With  sondre  folk  assailed  was, 

That  she  ne  wiste  what  to  doo. 

For  Venus  hir  assailith  soo, 

That  nyght  and  day  from  hir  she  stale 
Bothons  and  roses  over-all. 

To  Resoun  thanne  praieth  Chastite, 
Whom  Venus  hath  flemed  over  the  see, 
That  she  hir  doughter  wolde  hir  lene, 

To  kepe  the  Roser  fresh  and  grene. 
Anoon  Resoun  to  Chastite 
Is  fully  assented  that  it  be, 

And  grauntide  hir  at  hir  request 
That  Shame,  by  cause  she  is  honest. 
Shall  keper  of  the  roser  be. 

And  thus  to  kepe  it  ther  were  three, 
That  noon  shulde  hardy  be  ne  bolde. 
Were  he  yong  or  were  he  olde, 

Ageyn  hir  will  awey  to  here 
Bothons  ne  roses  that  there  were. 

I hadde  wel  spedde,  hadde  I not  bene 
Awayted  with  these  three  and  sene. 

For  Bialacoil,  that  was  so  faire. 

So  gracious  and  debonaire, 

Quytt  hym  to  me  full  curteislye, 

And  me  to  please,  bade  that  I 
Shulde  drawe  me  to  the  bothon  nere ; 
Prese  in  to  touche  the  rosere 
Which  bare  the  roses,  he  yaf  me  leve; 
This  graunte  ne  myght  but  lytel  greve. 
And  for  he  sawe  it  liked  me, 

Ryght  nygh  the  bothon  pullede  he 
A leef  all  grene  and  yaff  me  that ; 

The  whiche  full  nygh  the  bothon  sat, 

I made  [me]  of  that  leef  full  queynte. 

4i 


And  whanne  I felte  I was  aqueynte 
With  Bialacoil,  and  so  pryve, 

I wende  all  at  my  will  hadde  be. 
Thanne  waxe  I hardy  forto  telle 
To  Bialacoil  how  me  bifelle 
Of  love,  that  toke  and  wounded  me; 
And  seide : “ Sir,  so  mote  I thee, 

I may  no  joye  have  in  no  wise 
Uppon  no  side,  but  it  rise. 

For  sithens,  if  I shall  not  feyne, 

In  herte  I have  hadde  so  gret  peyne, 
So  gret  annoy  and  such  affray, 

That  I ne  wote  what  I shall  say, 

I drede  youre  wrathe  to  disserve. 

Lever  me  were  that  knyves  kerve 
My  body  shulde  in  pecys  small, 

Than  any  weyes  it  shulde  fall 
That  yewratthed  shulde  ben  with  me.” 
“ Sey  boldely  thi  will,”  quod  he, 

“ I nyl  be  wroth,  if  that  I may. 

For  nought  that  thou  shalt  to  me  say.” 
Thanne  seide  I,  “Ser,  not  you  displease 
To  knowen  of  myn  gret  unnese. 

In  which  oonly  love  hath  me  brought. 
For  peynes  gret,  disese,  and  thought, 
Fro  day  to  day  he  doth  me  drye — 
Supposeth  not,  sir,  that  I lye. 

In  me  fyve  woundes  dide  he  make, 
The  soore  of  whiche  shall  nevereslake ; 
But  ye  the  Bothon  graunte  me 
Which  is  moost  passaunt  of  beaute. 
My  lyf,  my  deth,  and  my  martire. 

And  tresour,  that  I moost  desire.” 
Thanne  Bialacoil,  affrayed  all, 

Seyde,  “ Sir,  it  may  not  fall — 

That  ye  desire,  it  may  not  arise. 

What  ! Wolde  ye  shende  me  in  this 
wise  ? 

A mochel  foole  thanne  I were. 


F 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


If  I suffride  you  awey  to  bere 
The  fresh  bothoun  so  faire  of  sight. 
For  it  were  neither  skile  ne  right, 

Of  the  roser  ye  broke  the  rynde. 

Or  take  the  rose  aforn  his  kynde; 

Ye  are  not  curteys  to  aske  it. 

Late  it  still  on  the  roser  sitt, 

And  growe  til  it  amended  be 
And  parfytly  come  to  beaute; 

I nolde  not  that  it  pulled  were 
Fro  the  roser  that  it  bere, 

To  me  it  is  so  leef  and  deere.” 

With  that  sterteoute  anoon  Daungere, 
Out  of  the  place  were  he  was  hidde ; 
His  malice  in  his  chere  was  kidde. 

Full  grete  he  was  and  blak  of  hewe, 
Sturdy  and  hidous,who  so  hym  knewe, 
Likesharp urchouns hishere  wasgrowe  ; 
His  eyes  reed  as  the  fyre  glowe. 

His  nose  frounced,  full  kirked  stoode. 
He  come  criande  as  he  were  woode, 
And  seide  : “ Bialacoil,  telle  me  why 
Thou  bryngest  hider  so  booldely 
Hym  that  [is]  so  nygh  the  roser! 

Thou  worchist  in  a wrong  manner  ; 

He  thenkith  to  dishonoure  thee. 

Thou  art  wel  worthy  to  have  maugree, 
To  late  hym  of  the  roser  wite  ; 

Who  serveth  feloun  is  yvel  quitte. 
Thou  woldist  have  doon  gret  bounte, 
And  he  with  shamewoulde  quyte  thee. 
Fie  hennes,  Felowe  ! I rede  thee  goo, 
It  wanteth  litel  I wole  thee  sloo; 

For  Bialacoil  ne  knewe  thee  nought, 
Whanne  thee  to  serve  he  sette  his 
thought ; 

For  thou  wolt  shame  hym,  if  thou 
myght, 

Bothe  ageyns  resoun  and  right. 


I wole  no  more  in  thee  affye, 

That  comest  so  slyghly  for  tespye  ; 

For  it  preveth  wonder  well 

Thy  sleight  and  tresoun  every  deell.” 

I durst  no  more  there  make  abode 
For  the  cherl,  he  was  so  wode  ; 

So  gan  he  threte  and  manace, 

And  thurgh  the  haye  hedide  me  chace. 
Forfeerofhym  I tremblyde  and  quoke, 
So  cherlishly  his  heed  it  shoke  ; 

And  seide,  if  eft  he  myght  me  take 
I shulde  not  from  his  hondis  scape. 
Thanne  Bialacoil  is  fledde  and  mate, 
And  I,  all  soole,  disconsolate, 

Was  left  aloone  in  peyne  and  thought. 
For  shame  to  deth  I was  nygh  brought. 
Thanne  thought  I on  myn  high  foly, 
How  that  my  body  utterly 
Was  yeve  to  peyne  and  to  martire ; 
And  therto  hadde  I so  gret  ire, 

That  I ne  durst  the  haye  passe. 

There  was  noon  hope,  there  was  no 
grace, 

I trowe  nevere  man  wiste  of  peyne, 

But  he  were  laced  in  loves  cheyne ; 

Ne  no  man  [not],  and  sooth  it  is, 

But  if  he  love,  what  anger  is. 

Love  holdith  his  heest  tome  right  wele, 
Whanne  peyne  he  seide  I shulde  fele. 
Noon  hertemay  thenke,ne  tunge  seyne 
A quarter  of  my  woo  and  peyne  ; 

I myght  not  with  the  anger  laste. 

Myn  herte  in  poynt  was  forto  brast, 
Whanne  I thought  on  the  rose, that  soo 
Was  thurgh  Daunger  cast  me  troo. 

A longe  while  stode  I in  that  state. 

Til  that  me  saugh  so  madde  and  mate 
The  lady  of  the  highe  ward, 

Which  from  hirtourlokidethiderward. 


42 


* 


■ 


' 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Resoun  men  clepe  that  lady, 

Which  from  hir  tour  delyverly, 

Come  doun  to  me  withoute  more. 

But  she  was  neither  yong  ne  hoore, 

Ne  high  ne  lowe,  ne  fat  ne  lene, 

But  best  as  it  were  in  a mene. 

Hir  eyen  twoo  were  cleer  and  light 
As  ony  candell  that  brenneth  bright ; 
And  in  hir  heed  she  hadde  a crowne. 
Hir  semede  wel  an  high  persoune ; 

For  rounde  enviroun  hir  crownet 
Was  full  of  riche  stonys  frett. 

Hir  goodly  semblaunt  by  devys 
I trowe  were  maad  in  Paradys ; 

For  nature  hadde  nevere  such  a grace 
To  forge  a werk  of  such  compace. 

For  certeyn,  but  if  the  letter  lye, 

God  hym-silf,  that  is  so  high, 

Made  hir  aftir  his  ymage, 

And  yaffhir  sith  sich  avauntage, 

That  she  hath  myght  and  seignorie 
To  kepe  men  from  all  folye. 

Who  so  wole  trowe  hir  lore, 

Ne  may  offenden  nevermore. 

And  while  I stode  thus  derk  and  pale, 
Resoun  bigan  to  me  hir  tale. 

She  seide:  “A1  hayle,myswetefreende! 
Foly and  childhoode  wole  theesheende, 
Which  the  have  putt  in  gret  affray ; 
Thou  hast  bought  deere  the  tyme  of  May 
That  made  thyn  herte  mery  to  be. 

In  yvell  tyme  thou  wentist  to  see 
The  gardyne,  wherof  Idilnesse 
Bare  the  keye  and  was  maistresse, 
Whanne  thou  yedest  in  the  daunce 
With  hir,  and  haddest  aqueyntaunce. 
Hir  aqueyntaunce  is  perilous, 

First  softe  and  aftir  noious ; 


She  hath  [thee]  trasshed withoute  wene. 
The  God  of  Love  hadde  the  not  sene, 
Ne  hadde  Idilnesse  thee  conveyed 
In  the  verger,  where  Myrthehympleyed. 
If  foly  have  supprised  thee, 

Do  so  that  it  recovered  be, 

And  be  wel  ware  to  take  nomore, 
Counsel  that  greveth  aftir  sore. 

He  is  wise  that  wole  hym-silf  chastise ; 
And  though  a yong  man  in  ony  wise 
Trespace  amonge  and  do  foly, 

Late  hym  not  tarye,  but  hastily 
Late  hym  amende  what  so  be  mys. 

And  eke  I counseile  thee  I-wys 
The  God  of  Love  hoolly  foryete, 

That  hath  thee  in  sich  peyne  sette, 

And  thee  in  herte  tourmented  soo. 

I can  not  sene  how  thou  maist  goo 
Other  weyes  to  garisoun ; 

For  Daunger  that  is  so  feloun 
Felly  purposith  thee  to  werreye, 

Which  is  ful  cruel,  the  soth  to  seye. 

And  yitt  of  Daunger  cometh  no  blame 
In  rewarde  of  my  doughter  Shame, 
Which  hath  the  roses  in  her  warde, 

As  she  that  may  be  no  musarde. 

And  Wikked-Tunge  iswith  these  two, 
That  suffrith  no  man  thider  goo. 

For  er  a thing  be,  do  he  shall, 

Where  that  he  cometh  over-all, 

In  fourty  places,  if  it  be  sought, 

Seye  thyng  that  nevere  was  don  ne 
wrought ; 

So  moche  tresoun  is  in  his  male, 

Of  falsnesse  forto  seyne  a tale. 

Thou  delest  with  angry  folk  y-wis ; 
Wherfore  to  thee  bettir  is 
From  these  folk  awey  to  fare, 


43 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


For  they  wole  make  thee  lyve  in  care. 
This  is  the  yvell  that  love  they  calle, 
Wherynne  ther  is  but  foly  alle ; 

For  love  is  foly  everydell. 

Who  loveth  in  no  wise  may  do  well, 

Ne  sette  his  thought  on  no  good  werk. 
His  scole  he  lesith,  if  he  be  clerk ; 

Of  other  craft  eke  if  he  be, 

He  shal  not  thryve  therynne,  for  he 
In  love  shal  have  more  passioun 
Than  monke,  hermyte,  or  chanoun. 

The  peyne  is  hard  out  of  mesure, 

The  joye  may  eke  no  while  endure; 

And  in  the  possessioun, 

Is  mych  tribulacioun. 

The  joye  it  is  so  short  lastyng, 

And  but  in  happe  is  the  getyng. 

For  I see  there  many  in  travaill 
That  atte  laste  foule  fayle. 

I was  no  thyng  thi  counseler 
Whanne  thou  were  maad  the  omager 
Of  God  of  Love  to  hastily. 

Ther  was  no  wisdom,  but  foly  ; 

Thyne  herte  was  joly  but  not  sage, 
Whanne  thou  were  brought  in  sich  a rage, 
To  yelde  thee  so  redily. 

And  to  leve  of  his  gret  maistrie, 

I rede  thee  Love  awey  to  dryve, 

That  makith  thee  recche  not  of  thi  lyve. 

The  foly  more  fro  day  to  day 

Shal  growe,  but  thou  it  putte  away. 

Take  with  thy  teeth  the  bridel  faste 
To  daunte  thyne  herte,  and  eke  thee 
caste, 

If  that  thou  maist  gete  thee  defence, 
Forto  redresse  thi  first  offence. 

Who  so  his  herte  alwey  wole  leve 
Shalfynde  amongethat  shal  hym  greve.” 

44 


Whanne  I hir  herd  thus  me  chastise, 

I answerd  in  ful  angry  wise ; 

I prayed  hir  ceessen  of  hir  speche, 
Outher  to  chastise  me  or  teche, 

To  bidde  me  my  thought  refreyne, 
"^Vhich  Love  hath  caught  in  his  demeyne. 
“ What ! Wene  ye  Love  wole  consente, 
That  me  assailith  with  bowe  bente, 

To  drawe  myne  herte  out  of  his  honde. 
Which  is  so  qwikly  in  his  bonde? 

That  ye  counseyle  may  nevere  be; 

For  whanne  he  firste  arestide  me, 

He  took  myne  herte  so  hoole  hymtille, 
That  it  is  no  thyng  at  my  wille. 

He  taught  it  so  hym  forto  obey, 

That  he  it  sparrede  with  a key. 

I pray  yow  late  me  be  all  stille, 

For  ye  may  well,  if  that  ye  wille, 

Youre  wordis  waste  in  idilnesse. 

For  utterly,  withouten  gesse, 

All  that  ye  seyn  is  but  in  veyne. 

Me  were  lever  dve  in  the  peyne, 

Than  Love  to-me-ward  shulde  arette 
Falsheed,  or  tresoun  on  me  sette. 

I wole  me  gete  prys  or  blame 
And  Love  trewe  to  save  mv  name  ; 
Who  that  me  chastith  I hym  hate.” 
With  that  word  Resounvvente  hir  gate, 
Whanne  she  saugh  for  no  sermonynge 
She  myght  me  fro  my  foly  brvnge. 
Thanne  dismaied  I,  lefte  all  sool, 
Forwery,  forwandred,  as  a fool. 

For  I ne  knewe  no  chevisaunce. 

Thanne  fell  into  my  remembraunce 
How  Love  bade  me  to  purveye 
A felowe,  to  whom  I myght  seye 
My  counsell  and  my  pryvete. 

For  that  shulde  moche  availe  me. 

With  that  bithought  I me  that  1 


. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Hadde  a felowe  faste  by 
Trewe  and  siker,  curteys  and  hende  ; 

And  he  was  called  by  name  a Freende, 

A trewer  felowe  was  no  wher  noon. 

In  haste  to  hym  I wente  anoon, 

And  to  hym  all  my  woo  I tolde, 

Fro  hym  right  noughtlwoldwitholde. 

I tolde  him  all  withoute  were, 

And  made  mycompleynt  onDaungere, 

H ow  forto  see  he  was  hidous, 

And  to-me-ward  contrarious; 

The  whiche,  thurgh  his  cruelte 
Was  in  poynt  to  have  meygned  me. 

With  Bialacoil  whanne  he  me  sey 
Withynne  the  gardeynwalke  and  pley, 
Fro  me  he  made  hym  forto  go ; 

And  I,  bilefte  aloone  in  woo, 

I durst  no  lenger  with  hym  speke, 

For  Daunger  seide  he  wolde  be  wreke, 
Whanne  that  he  sawe  how  I wente 
The  freshe  bothon  forto  hente, 

If  I were  hardy  to  come  neer 
Bitwene  the  hay  and  the  Roser. 

This  freend,  whanne  he  wiste  of  my 
thought, 

He  discomforted  me  right  nought. 

But  seide,  “Felowe,  be  not  so  madde, 

Ne  so  abaysshed,  nor  bystadde ; 

My  silf  I knowe  full  well  Daungere, 

And  how  he  is  feers  of  his  cheere 
At  prime  temps  love  to  manace. 

Ful  ofte  I have  ben  in  his  caas ; 

A feloun  firste  though  that  he  be, 

Aftir  thou  shalt  hym  souple  se. 

Of  longe  passed  I knewe  hym  well ; 
Ungoodly  first  though  men  hym  feele, 
He  wole  meke  aftir  in  his  beryng 
Been,  for  service  and  obeyssyng. 

45 


I shal  thee  telle  what  thou  shalt  doo : 
Mekely  I rede  thou  go  hym  to, 

Of  herte  pray  hym  specialy 
Of  thy  trespace  to  have  mercy, 

And  hote  well,  [hym]  here  to  plese. 
That  thou  shalt  nevermore  hym  displese. 
Who  can  best  serve  of  flaterie, 

Shall  please  Daunger  most  uttirly.” 

My  freend  hath  seid  to  me  so  wel, 

That  he  me  esid  hath  somdell, 

And  eke  allegged  of  my  torment. 

For  thurgh  hym  had  I hardement 
Agayn  to  Daunger  forto  go. 

To  preve  if  I myght  meke  hym  soo. 

To  Daunger  came  I all  ashamed, 

The  which  aforn  me  hadde  y-blamed, 
Desiryng  forto  pese  my  woo. 

But  over  hegge  durst  I not  goo, 

For  he  forbede  me  the  passage. 

I fonde  hym  cruel  in  his  rage 
And  in  his  honde  a gret  burdoun. 

To  hym  I knelide  lowe  a-doun, 

Ful  meke  of  port  and  symple  of  chere. 
And  seide,  “Sir,  I am  comen  heere 
Oonly  to  aske  of  you  mercy ; 

It  greveth  me  full  gretly 

That  evere  my  lyf  I wratthed  you. 

But  forto  amenden  I am  come  now, 
With  all  my  myght,  botheloude  and  stille. 
To  doon  right  at  youre  owne  wille. 

For  Love  made  me  forto  doo 
That  I have  trespassed  hidirto, 

Fro  whom  I ne  may  withdrawe  myne 
herte. 

Yit  shall  never  for  joy  ne  smerte, 

What  so  bifalle,  good  or  ille, 

Offende  more  ageyn  youre  wille ; 

Lever  I have  endure  disese, 

Than  do  that  you  shulde  displese. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


I you  require  and  pray  that  ye 
Of  me  have  mercy  and  pitee 
To  stynte  your  ire  that  greveth  soo. 
That  I wole  swere  for  ever  mo 
To  be  redressid  at  youre  likyng. 

If  I trespasse  in  ony  thyng. 

Save  that  I pray  thee  graunte  me 
A thyng  that  may  not  warned  be: 
That  I may  love  all  oonly, 

Noon  other  thyng  of  you  aske  I. 

I shall  doon  elles  well  I-wys, 

If  of  youre  grace  ye  graunte  me  this  ; 
And  ye  may  not  letten  me, 

For  wel  wot  ye  that  love  is  free, 

And  I shall  loven  sithen  that  I wille, 
Who  evere  like  it,  well  or  ille. 

And  yit  ne  wold  I for  all  Fraunce 
Do  thyng  to  do  you  displesaunce.” 

Thanne  Daunger  fille  in  his  entent 
Forto  foryeve  his  male  talent  ; 

But  all  his  wratthe  yit  atte  laste 
He  hath  relesed,  I preyde  so  faste. 
Shortly  he  seide,  “ Thy  request 
Is  not  to  mochel  dishonest, 

Ne  I wole  not  werne  it  thee  ; 

For  yit  no  thyng  engreveth  me. 

For  though  thou  love  thus  evermore, 
To  me  is  neither  softe  ne  soore. 

Love  where  the  list,  what  recchith  me, 
So  [thou]  fer  fro  my  roses  be  ? 

Trust  not  on  me  for  noon  assay. 

If  ony  tyme  thou  passe  the  hay.” 

Thus  hath  he  graunted  my  praiere. 
Thanne  wente  I forth  withouten  were 
Unto  my  freend,  and  tolde  hym  all. 
Which  was  right  joyfull  of  my  tale. 

Fie  seide,  “Now  goth  wel  thyn  affaire, 
He  shall  to  thee  be  debonaire  ; 


Though  he  aforn  was  dispitous, 

He  shall  heere  aftir  be  gracious. 

If  he  were  touchid  on  somme  good 
veyne, 

Tie  shuld  yit  rewen  on  thi  peyne. 
Suffre  I rede,  and  no  boost  make, 

Till  thou  at  good  mes  maist  hym  take. 
By  sufferaunce  and  wordis  softe 
A man  may  overcome  ofte 
Hym  that  aforn  he  hadde  in  drede, 

In  bookis  sothly  as  I rede.” 

Thus  hath  my  freend  with  gret  comfort 
Avaunced  me  with  high  disport, 
Which  wolde  me  good  as  mych  as  I. 
And  thanne  anoon  full  sodeynly 
I toke  my  leve,  and  streight  I wente 
Unto  the  hay,  for  gret  talent 
I hadde  to  sene  the  fresh  bothoun 
Wherynne  lay  my  salvacioun. 

And  Daunger  toke  kepe,  if  that  I 
Kepe  hym  covenaunt  trewely. 

So  sore  I dradde  his  manasyng 
I durst  not  breke  his  biddyng, 

For  lest  that  I were  of  hym  shent 
I brake  not  his  comaundement, 

Forto  purchase  his  good  wille. 

It  was  [nat]  forto  come  ther-tille. 

His  mercy  was  to  ferre  bihynde  ; 

I wepte  for  I ne  myght  it  fynde. 

I compleyned  and  sighed  sore, 

And  langwisshed  evermore, 

For  I durst  not  over  goo 
Unto  the  rose  I loved  soo. 

Thurgh  my  demenyng  outerly 
[Thanne  he  had  knowlege  certanly,] 
That  Love  me  ladde  in  sich  a wise 
That  in  me  ther  was  no  feyntise, 
Falsheed,  ne  no  trecherie. 

And  yit  he  full  of  vylanye, 

46 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Of  disdeyne,  and  cruelte, 

On  me  ne  wolde  have  pite 
His  cruel  will  forto  refreyne, 

Though  I wepe  alwey  and  me  com- 
pleyne. 

And  while  I was  in  this  torment, 

Were  come  of  grace,  by  god  sent, 
Fraunchise  and  with  hir  Pite. 

Fulfild  the  bothen  of  bounte, 

They  go  to  Daunger  anoon-right. 

To  forther  me  with  all  her  myght. 

And  hel'pe  in  worde  and  in  dede ; 

For  well  they  saugh  that  it  was  nede. 
First  of  hir  grace  dame  Fraunchise 
Hath  taken  [word]  of  this  emprise; 

She  seide,  “Daunger,  gret  wrong  ye  do 
To  worche  this  man  so  myche  woo, 

Or  pynen  hym  so  angerly  ; 

It  is  to  you  gret  villanye. 

I can  not  see  [ne]  why  ne  how 
That  he  hath  trespassed  ageyn  you, 

Save  that  he  loveth ; wherforeye  shulde 
The  more  in  cherete  of  hym  holde. 

The  force  of  love  makith  hym  do  this  ; 
Who  wolde  hym  blame,  he  dide  amys. 
He  leseth  more  than  ye  may  do ; 

His  peyne  is  harde,  ye  may  see  lo. 

And  Love  in  no  wise  wolde  consente 
That  he  have  power  to  repente. 
Forthough  that  quykye  wolde  hymsloo. 
Fro  love  his  herte  may  not  goo. 

Now,  swete  Sir,  is  it  youre  ese 
Hym  forto  angre  or  disese  ? 

Allas,  what  may  it  you  avaunce 
To  done  to  hym  so  gret  grevaunce  ? 
What  worship  is  it  agayn  hym  take, 

Or  on  youre  man  a werre  make, 

Sith  he  so  lowly  every  wise 
Is  redy,  as  ye  lust  devise  ? 

47 


If  Love  hath  caught  hym  in  his  lace 
You  for  tobeye  in  every  caas, 

And  ben  youre  suget  at  youre  will, 
Shuld  ye  therfore  willen  hym  ill  ? 

Ye  shulde  hym  spare  more  all  oute 
Than  hym  that  is  bothe  proude  and 
stoute. 

Curtesie  wole  that  ye  socour 
Hem  that  ben  meke  undir  youre  cure. 
His  herte  is  hard  that  wole  not  meke, 
Whannemenofmekenessehymbiseke.” 
“ That  is  certeyn,”  seide  Pite, 

“ We  se  ofte  that  humilite 
Bothe  ire  and  also  felonye 
Venquyssheth,  and  also  malencolye. 
To  stonde  forth  in  such  duresse, 

This  cruelte  and  wikkidnesse. 
Wherfore  I pray  you,  Sir  Daungere, 
Forto  mayntene  no  lenger  heere 
Such  cruel  werre  agayn  youre  man. 

As  hoolly  youres  as  ever  he  can  ; 

Nor  that  ye  worchen  no  more  woo 
On  this  caytif  that  langwisshith  soo, 
Which  wole  no  more  to  you  trespasse. 
But  putte  hym  hoolly  in  youre  grace. 
His  offense  ne  was  but  lite  ; 

The  god  of  Love  it  was  to  wife, 

That  he  youre  thrall  so  gretly  is  ; 

And  if  ye  harme  hym,  ye  done  amys. 
For  he  hath  hadde  full  hard  penaunce, 
Sith  that  ye  refte  hym  thaqueyntaunce 
Of  Bialacoil,  his  mostejoye, 

Which  alle  hise  peynes  myght  acoye. 
He  was  biforn  anoyed  sore, 

But  thanne  ye  doubled  hem  well  more. 
For  he  of  blis  hath  ben  full  bare, 

Sith  Bialacoil  was  fro  hym  fare. 

Love  hath  to  hym  do  gret  distresse, 

He  hath  no  nede  of  more  duresse ; 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Voideth  from  hym  youre  ire,  I rede. 
Ye  may  not  wynnen  in  this  dede. 
Makith  Bialacoil  repeire  ageyn, 

And  haveth  pite  upon  his  peyne ; 

For  Fraunchise  wole  and  I,  Pite, 

That  mercyful  to  hym  ye  be. 

And  sith  that  she  and  I accorde 
Have  upon  hym  misericorde, 

For  I you  pray  and  eke  moneste 
Nought  to  refusen  oure  requeste. 

For  he  is  hard  and  fell  of  thought, 
That  for  us  twoo  wole  dorightnought.” 

Daunger  ne  myght  no  more  endure, 
He  mekede  hym  unto  mesure. 

“I  wole  in  no  wise,”  seith  Daungere, 
“Denye  that  ye  have  asked  heere, 

It  were  to  gret  uncurtesie ; 

I wole  he  have  the  companye 
Of  Bialacoil,  as  ye  devise ; 

I wole  hym  lette  in  no  wise.” 

To  Bialacoil  thanne  wente  in  hye 
Fraunchise,  and  seide  full  curteislye  : 
“Ye  have  to  longe  be  deignous 
Unto  this  lover  and  daungerous, 

Fro  hym  to  withdrawe  your  presence, 
Whiche  hath  do  to  him  great  offence. 
That  ye  not  wolde  upon  him  se ; 
Wherfore  a sorouful  man  is  he. 

Shape  ye  to  paye  him,  and  to  please, 
Of  my  love  if  ye  wol  have  ease ; 

Fulfyl  his  wyl,  sithe  that  ye  knowe 
Daunger  is  daunted  and  brought  lowe 
Through  helpe  of  me  and  of  Pyte ; 
You  dare  no  more  aferde  be.” 

“I  shal  do  right  as  ye  wyl.” 

Saith  Bialacoil,  “for  it  is  skyl, 

Sithe  Daunger  wol  that  it  so  be.” 


Than  Fraunchise  hath  him  sent  to  me 
Bialacoil  at  the  begynnyng, 

Salued  me  in  his  commyng  ; 

No  straungenesse  was  in  him  sene, 

No  more  than  he  ne  had  wrathed  bene. 
As  fayre  semblaunt  than  shewed  he  me. 
And  goodly,  as  aforne  dyd  he. 

And  by  the  honde  withoute  doute, 
Within  the  haye  right  al  aboute 
He  ladde  me  with  right  good  chere, 

Al  envyron  the  vergere 

That  Daunger  hadde  me  chased  fro. 

Nowe  have  I leave  over  al  to  go, 

No  we  am  I raysed  at  my  devyse 
Fro  helle  unto  paradyse. 

Thus  Bialacoil  of  gentylnesse, 

With  al  his  payne  and  besynesse. 

Hath  shewed  me  onely  ot  grace 
The  estres  of  the  swote  place. 

I sawe  the  Rose  whan  I was  nygh 
Was  greatter  woxen  and  more  high, 
Fresshe,  roddy,  and  fayre  ot  hewe, 

Of  coloure  veer  yliche  newe. 

And  whan  I hadde  it  longe  sene, 

I sawe  that  through  the  leves  grene 
The  Rose  spredde  to  spaunysshinge, 
To  sene  it  was  a goodly  thynge. 

But  it  ne  was  so  sprede  on  brede 
That  men  within  mvght  knowe  the  sede 
For  it  covert  was  and  close 
Bothe  with  the  leves  and  with  the  rose. 
The  stalke  was  even  and  grene  upright. 
It  was  theron  a goodly  syght. 

And  wel  the  better,  withoute  wene, 
For  the  seed  was  nat  [y-]sene. 

Ful  fayre  it  spradde  (God  it  blesse), 
For  suche  another,  as  I gesse, 

Aforne  ne  was,  ne  more  vermayle. 

48 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


I was  abawed  for  marveyle, 

For  ever  the  fayrer  that  it  was, 

The  more  I am  bounde  in  Loves  laas. 
Longe  I abode  there,  sothe  to  saye, 
Tyl  Bialacoil  I ganne  to  praye. 

Whan  that  I sawe  him,  in  no  wyse 
To  me  warnen  his  servyce, 

That  he  me  wolde  graunt  a thynge, 
Whiche  to  remembre  is  wel  syttynge. 
This  is  to  sayne,  that  of  his  grace 
He  wolde  me  yeve  leysar  and  space, 
To  me  that  was  so  desyrous 
To  have  a kyssynge  precious 
Of  the  goodly  fresshe  Rose, 

That  so  swetely  smelleth  in  my  nose. 
“For  if  it  you  displeased  nought 
I wolde  gladly,  as  I have  sought, 

Have  a cosse  therof  freely 
Of  your  yefte ; for  certainly 
I wol  none  have,  but  by  your  leve, 

So  lothe  me  were  you  for  to  greve.” 

He  sayde,  “Frende,  so  god  me  spede, 
Of  Chastite  I have  suche  drede, 

Thou  shuldest  nat  warned  be  for  me ; 
But  I dare  nat  for  Chastyte. 

Agayne  her  dare  I nat  mysdo, 

For  alwaye  byddeth  she  me  so 
To  yeve  no  lover  leave  to  kysse. 

For  who  therto  maye  wynne  y-wisse. 
He  of  the  surplus  of  the  praye 
May  lyve  in  hoope  to  gette  some  daye. 
For  who  so  kyssynge  maye  attayne 
Of  loves  payne  hath,  soth  to  sayne, 
The  best  and  [the]  most  avenaunt, 
And  ernest  of  the  remenaunt.” 

Of  his  answere  I sighed  sore; 

I durst  assaye  him  tho  no  more, 


I hadde  suche  drede  to  greve  him  aye. 
A man  shulde  nat  to  moche  assaye 
To  chafe  hys  frende  out  of  measure, 
Nor  putte  his  lyfe  in  aventure. 

For  no  man  at  the  firste  stroke 
Ne  maye  nat  felle  downe  an  oke, 

Nor  of  the  reysyns  have  the  wyne, 

Tyl  grapes  be  rype,  and  wel  afyne 
Be  sore  empressid,  I you  ensure, 

And  drawen  out  of  the  pressure. 

But  I forpeyned  wonder  stronge, 
Though  that  I aboode  right  longe 
Aftir  the  kis  in  peyne  and  woo, 

Sith  I to  kis  desired  soo ; 

Till  that,  rewyng  on  my  distresse, 
Ther  come  Venus  the  goddesse, 
Which  ay  werreyeth  Chastite, 

Came  of  hir  grace  to  socoure  me, 
Whos  myght  is  knowe  ferre  and  wide ; 
For  she  is  modir  of  Cupide, 

The  god  of  love,  blynde  as  stoon, 

That  helpith  lovers  many  oon. 

This  lady  brought  in  hir  right  honde 
Of  brennyng  fyre  a blasyng  bronde, 
Wherof  the  flawme  and  hoote  fire 
Hath  many  a lady  in  desire 
Of  love  brought,  and  sore  hette, 

And  in  hir  servise  her  hertes  sette. 
This  lady  was  of  good  entaile, 

Right  wondirfull  of  apparayle; 

Bi  hir  atyre  so  bright  and  shene 
Men  myght  perceyve  well  and  sene 
She  was  not  of  religioun. 

Nor  I nell  make  mencioun 
Nor  of  robe  nor  of  tresour, 

Of  broche  nor  of  hir  riche  attour, 

Ne  of  hir  girdill  aboute  hir  side, 

For  that  I nyll  not  longe  abide. 

But  knowith  wel  that  certeynly 
49  G 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


She  was  araied  richely ; 

Devoyde  of  pruyde  certeyn  she  was. 

To  Bialacoil  she  wente  apas, 

And  to  hym,  shortly  in  a clause, 

She  seide,  “Sir,  what  is  the  cause 
Ye  ben  of  port  so  daungerous 
Unto  this  lover  and  deynous, 

To  graunte  hym  nothyng  but  a kisse. 

To  werne  it  hym  ye  done  amysse, 

Sith  well  ye  wote  how  that  he 
Is  loves  servaunt,  as  ye  may  see, 

And  hath  beaute,  wher-through  is 
Worthy  of  love  to  have  the  blis. 

How  he  is  semely,  biholde  and  see 
How  he  is  faire,  how  he  is  free. 

How  he  is  swoote  and  debonaire, 

Of  age  yonge,  lusty  and  faire. 

Ther  is  no  lady  so  hawteyne, 

Duchesse  ne  countesse,  ne  chasteleyne, 
That  I nolde  holde  hir  ungoodly 
Forto  refuse  hym  outterly. 

His  breth  is  also  good  and  swete. 

And  eke  his  lippis  rody,  and  mete 
Oonly  to  pleyen  and  to  kisse ; 

Graunte  hym  a kis  of  gentilnysse. 

His  teth  arn  also  white  and  clene. 
Methenkith  [it]  wrong,  withoutenwene, 
If  ye  now  werne  hym,  trustith  me, 

To  graunte  that  a kis  have  he. 

The  lasse  to  helpe  hym  that  ye  haste, 
The  more  tyme  shul  ye  waste.” 
Whannetheflawmeof  theverry  bronde. 
That  Venus  brought  in  hir  right  honde, 
Hadde  Bialacoil  with  hete  smete, 
Anoon  he  bade  me  withouten  lette, 
Grauntede  to  me  the  Rose  kisse. 

Thanne  of  my  peyne  I gan  to  lysse. 

And  to  the  Rose  anoon  wente  I, 

And  kisside  it  full  feithfully. 


Thar  no  man  aske  if  I was  blithe 
Whanne  the  savour  soft  and  lythe 
Stroke  to  myn  herte  withoute  more. 
And  me  alegged  of  my  sore. 

So  was  I full  of  joye  and  blisse. 

It  is  faire  sich  a flour  to  kisse  ; 

It  was  so  swoote  and  saverous. 

I myght  not  be  so  angwisshous, 

That  I [ne]  mote  glad  and  joly  be, 
Whanne  that  I remembre  me. 

Yit  ever  among,  sothly  to  seyne, 

I suffre  noye  and  moche  peyne. 

The  see  may  never  be  so  stille, 

That  with  a litel  wynde  it  nylle 
Overwbelme  and  turne  also, 

As  it  were  woode  in  wawis  goo. 

Aftir  the  calme,  the  trouble  soone 
Motefolowe,andchaungeasthemoone. 
Right  so  farith  Love,  that  seide  in  oon 
Holdith  his  anker:  for  right  anoon, 
Whanne  they  in  ese  wene  beste  to 
lyve, 

They  ben  with  tempest  all  fordryve. 
Who  serveth  love  can  telle  ol  woo  ; 
The  stoundemele  joie  mote  overgoo  ; 
Now  he  hurteth  and  now  he  cureth, 
For  seide  in  oo  poynt  love  endureth. 

Now  is  it  right  me  to  procede 
How  Shame  gan  medle,  and  take  hede, 
Thurgh  whom  feleangres  I have  hadde. 
And  how  the  stronge  wall  was  maad, 
And  the  castell  of  brede  and  lengthe. 
That  God  of  Love  wanne  with  his 
strengthe. 

All  this  in  Romance  will  I sette, 

And  for  no  thyng  ne  will  I lette. 

So  that  it  lykyng  to  hir  be 
That  is  the  flour  ot  beaute. 


5° 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


For  she  may  best  my  labour  quyte, 

That  I for  hir  love  shal  endite. 

Wikkid-Tunge,  that  the  covyne 
Of  every  lover  can  devyne 
Worste,  and  addith  more  somdell 
(For  wikkid  tunge  seith  never  well), 
To-me-ward  bare  he  right  gret  hate, 
Espiyng  me  erly  and  late, 

Till  he  hath  sene  the  grete  chere 
Of  Bialacoil  and  me  I-feere. 

He  myghte  not  his  tunge  withstonde 
Worse  to  reporte  than  he  fonde, 

He  was  so  full  of  cursed  rage ; 

It  satte  hym  well  of  his  lynage, 

For  hym  an  Irish  womman  bare. 

His  tunge  was  fyled  sharpe  and  square, 
Poign[i]aunt,  and  right  kervyng, 

And  wonder  bitter  in  spekyng. 

For  whanne  that  he  me  gan  espie, 

He  swoore,  affermyng  sikirlye, 

Ritwene  Bialacoil  and  me 
Was  yvel  aquayntaunce  and  pryve. 

He  spake  therof  so  folilye. 

That  he  awakide  Ielousye, 

Which  all  afrayed  in  his  risyng, 

Whanne  that  he  herd  [him]  janglyng, 
He  ran  anoon  as  he  were  woode 
To  Bialacoil  there  that  he  stode  ; 

Which  hadde  lever  in  this  caas 
Have  ben  at  Reynes  or  Amyas. 

For  foot-hoot  in  his  felonye, 

To  hym  thus  seide  Ielousie  : 

“ Why  hast  thou  ben  so  necligent 
To  kepen,  whanne  I was  absent, 

This  verger  heere  left  in  thi  warde. 

To  me  thou  haddist  no  rewarde, 

To  truste,  to  thy  confusioun, 

Hym  thus,  to  whom  suspeccioun 

51 


I have  right  gret,  for  it  is  nede ; 

It  is  well  shewed  by  the  dede. 

Grete  faute  in  thee  now  have  I founde  ; 
By  God,  anoon  thou  shalt  be  bounde, 
And  faste  loken  in  a tour, 

Withoute  refuyt  or  socour. 

For  Shame  to  longe  hath  be  thee  froo  ; 
Over  soone  she  was  agoo. 

Whanne  thou  hast  lost  bothe  drede  and 
feere, 

It  semede  wel  she  was  not  heere. 

She  was  bisy  in  no  wyse 
To  kepe  thee  and  [to]  chastise, 

And  forto  helpen  Chastite 
To  kepe  the  roser,  as  thenkith  me. 

For  thanne  this  boy  knave  so  booldely 
Ne  shulde  not  have  be  hardy, 

[Ne]  in  this  verger  hadde  such  game, 
Which  nowmeturnethto  gret  shame.” 
Bialacoil  nyst  what  to  sey  ; 

Full  fayn  he  wolde  have  fled  awey, 

For  feere  han  hidde,  nere  that  he 
All  sodeynly  toke  hym  with  me. 

And  whanne  I saugh  he  hadde  soo, 
This  Ielousie,  take  us  twoo, 

I was  a-stoned,  and  knewe  no  rede. 

But  fledde  awey  for  verrey  drede. 
Thanne  Shame  camforthfullsymplely. 
She  wende  have  trespaced  full  gretly, 
Humble  of  hir  port,  and  made  it  symple, 
Weryng  a vayle  in  stede  of  wymple, 
As  nonnys  don  in  her  abbey. 

By  cause  hir  herte  was  in  affray, 

She  gan  to  speke  withynne  a throwe 
To  Ielousie  right  wonder  lowe. 

First  of  his  grace  she  bysoughte 
And  seide,  “ Sire,  ne  leveth  noughte 
Wikkid-Tunge,  that  false  espie, 
Which  is  so  glad  to  feyne  and  lye. 


ML,  OF  ILL  Life, 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


He  hath  you  maad,  thurgh  flateryng, 

On  Bialacoil  afals  lesyng; 

His  falsnesse  is  not  now  a-newe, 

It  is  to  long  that  he  hym  knewe  ; 

This  is  not  the  firste  day, 

For  Wikkid-Tunge  hath  custome  ay 
Yonge  folkis  to  bewreye, 

And  false  lesynges  on  hem  leye. 

Yit  nevertheles  I see  amonge 
That  the  loigne  it  is  so  longe 
Of  Bialacoil,  hertis  to  lure 
In  Loves  servyse  forto  endure, 

Drawyng  such  folk  hym  too, 

That  he  hath  no  thyng  with  to  doo. 

But  in  sothnesse  I trowe  nought 
That  Bialacoil  hadde  ever  in  thought 
To  do  trespace  or  vylonye. 

But  for  his  modir  Curtesie 
Hath  taught  hym  ever  to  be 
Good  of  aqueyntaunce  and  pryve. 

For  he  loveth  noon  hevynesse, 

But  mirthe,and  pley,and  all  gladnesse  ; 
He  hateth  all  trechours, 

Soleyn  folk  and  envyou[r]s  ; 

For  ye  witen  how  that  he 
Wole  ever  glad  and  joyfull  be, 

Honestly  with  folk  to  pleye. 

I have  be  negligent  in  good  feye 
To  chastise  hym  ; therfore  now  I, 

Of  herte  I crye  you  heere  mercy 
That  I have  Seen  so  recheles 
To  tamen  hym,  withouten  lees. 

Of  my  foly  I me  repente. 

Now  wole  I hoole  sette  myn  entente 
To  kepe,  bothe  low[d]e  and  stille, 
Bialacoil  to  do  youre  wille.” 

“ Shame,  shame,”  seyde  Ielousie, 

“ To  be  bytrasshed  gret  drede  have  I ; 
Leccheriejvath  clombe  so  hye, 

52 


That  almoost  blered  is  myn  ye : 

No  wonder  is  if  that  drede  have  I ; 
Over  all  regnyth  Lecchery, 

Whos  myght  growith  nyght  and  day 
Bothe  in  cloistre  and  in  abbey ; 
Chastite  is  werried  over  all, 

Therfore  I wole  with  siker  wall 
Close  bothe  roses  and  roser. 

I have  to  longe  in  this  maner 
Left  hem  unclosid  wilfully  ; 
Wherfore  I am  right  inwardly 
Sorowfull,  and  repente  me. 

But  now  they  shall  no  lenger  be 
Unclosid,  and  yit  I drede  sore 
I shall  repente  ferthermore  ; 

For  the  game  goth  all  amys, 

Counsell  I must  newe  y-wys. 

I have  to  longe  tristed  thee, 

But  now  it  shal  no  lenger  be ; 

For  he  may  best  in  every  cost 
Disceyve  that  men  tristen  most. 

I see  wel  that  I am  nygh  shent, 

But  if  I sette  my  full  entent 
Remedye  to  purveye. 

Therfore  close  I shall  the  weye. 

Fro  hem  that  wole  the  Rose  espie, 
And  come  to  wayte  me  vilonye. 

For  in  good  feith  and  in  trouthe, 

I wole  not  lette  for  no  slouthe. 

To  lyve  the  more  in  sikirnesse, 

To  make  anoon  a fort[e]resse, 
Tenclose  the  roses  of  good  savour. 

In  myddis  shall  I make  a tour. 

To  putte  Bialacoil  in  prisoun; 

For  evere  I drede  me  of  tresoun. 

I trowe  I shal  hym  kepe  soo 
That  he  shal  have  no  myght  to  goo 
Aboute,  to  make  companye 
To  hem  that  thenke  of  vylanye  ; 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Ne  to  no  such  as  hath  ben  heere 
Aforn,  and  founde  in  hym  good  chere  ; 
Which  han  assailed  hym  to  shende, 

And  with  her  trowandyse  to  blynde. 

A foole  is  eythe  to  bigyle  ; 

But,  may  I lyve  a litel  while, 

He  shal  forthenke  his  fair  semblaunt.” 

Andwith  that  word  cameDREDE  avaunt, 
Which  was  abasshed  and  in  gret  fere. 
Whanne  he  wiste  Ielousie  was  there, 

He  was  for  drede  in  sich  affray, 

That  not  a word  durst  he  say, 

But  quakyng  stode  full  still  aloone, 

Til  Ielousie  his  weye  was  gone, 

Save  Shame,  that  him  not  forsoke. 

Bothe  Drede  and  she  ful  sore  quoke, 
Than  atte  laste  Drede  abreyde, 

And  to  his  cosyn  Shame  seide  : 

“ Shame,”  he  seide,  “ in  sothfastnesse, 

To  me  it  is  gret  hevynesse 
That  the  noyse  so  ferre  is  go, 

And  the  sclaundre  of  us  twoo ; 

But  sithe  that  it  is  byfall, 

We  may  it  not  ageyn  call 
Whanne  onys  sprongen  is  a fame. 

For  many  a yeer  withouten  blame 
We  han  ben,  and  many  a day  ; 

For  many  an  Aprill  and  many  a May 
We  han  passed  not  [a-]  shamed, 

Till  Ielousie  hath  us  blamed 
Of  mystrust  and  suspecioun, 

Causeles,  withoute  enchesoun. 

Go  we  to  Daunger  hastily. 

And  late  us  shewe  hym  openly 
That  he  hath  not  aright  [y-] wrought, 
Whanne  thathesettenought  his  thought 
To  kepe  better  the  purprise. 

In  his  doyng  he  is  not  wise  ; 

53 


He  hath  to  us  do  gret  wronge, 

That  hath  suffred  now  so  longe 
Bialacoil  to  have  his  wille, 

All  his  lustes  to  fulfille. 

He  must  amende  it  utterly. 

Or  ellys  shall  he  vilaynesly 
Exiled  be  out  of  this  londe  ; 

For  he  the  werre  may  not  withstonde 
Of  Ielousie,  nor  the  greef, 

Sith  Bialacoil  is  at  myscheef.” 

To  Daunger,  Shame  and  Drede  anoon 
The  righte  weye  ben  goon. 

The  cherle  thei  founden  hem  aforn 
Liggyng  undir  an  hawethorn ; 

Undir  his  heed  no  pilowe  was. 

But  in  the  stede  a trusse  of  gras. 

He  slombred,  and  a nappe  he  toke, 
Tyll  Shame  pitously  hym  shoke, 

And  grete  manace  on  hym  gan  make. 
“ Why  slepist  thou,  whanne  thou 
shulde  wake  ?” 

Quod  Shame.  “Thoudoistus 
vylanye ; 

Who  tristith  thee,  he  doth  folye, 

To  kepe  roses  or  bothouns 
Whanne  thei  ben  faire  in  her  sesouns. 
Thou  art  woxe  to  familiere, 

Where  thou  shulde  be  straunge  of 
chere, 

Stoute  of  thi  porte,  redy  to  greve. 
Thou  doist  gret  folye  forto  leve 
Bialacoil  here  inne  to  calle 
The  yonder  man,  to  shende  us  alle. 
Though  that  thou  slepe,  we  may  here 
Of  Ielousie  gret  noyse  heere. 

Art  thou  now  late  ? Rise  up  an  high. 
And  stoppe  sone,  and  delyverly, 

All  the  gappis  of  the  hay ; 

Do  no  favour,  I thee  pray. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


It  fallith  no  thyng  to  thy  name 
To  make  faire  semblaunt,  where  thou 
maist  blame. 

Yf  Bialacoil  be  sweete  and  free. 
Dogged  and  fell  thou  shuldist  be, 
Froward  and  outerageous  y-wis. 

A cherl  chaungeth  that  curteis  is. 

This  have  I herd  ofte  in  seiyng, 

“ That  man  may,  for  no  dauntyng, 
Make  a sperhauke  of  a bosarde.” 

Alle  men  wole  holde  thee  for  musarde 
That  debonair  have  founden  thee. 

It  sittith  thee  nought  curteis  to  be, 

To  do  men  plesaunce  or  servise  ; 

In  thee  it  is  recreaundise. 

Lete  thi  werkis  fer  and  nere 

Be  like  thi  name,  which  is  Daungere.” 

Thanne,  all  abawid  in  shewing, 

Anoon  spake  Drede  right  thus  seiyng, 
And  seide,  “ Daungere,  I drede  me 
That  thou  ne  wolt  bisy  be 
To  kepe  that  thou  hast  to  kepe  ; 
Whanne  thou  shuldist  wake  thou  art 
a slepe. 

Thou  shalt  be  greved  certeynly, 

If  the  aspie  Ielousie, 

Or  if  he  fynde  thee  to  blame. 

He  hath  to  day  assailed  Shame 
And  chased  awey,  with  gret  manace, 
Bialacoil  oute  of  this  place. 

And  swereth  shortly  that  he  shall 
Enclose  hym  in  a sturdy  wall ; 

And  all  is  for  thi  wikkidnesse. 

For  that  thee  faileth  straungenesse. 
Thyne  herte  I trowe  be  failed  all. 
Thou  shalt  repente  in  speciall, 

If  Ielousie  the  sooth  knewe  ; 

Thou  shalt  forthenke  and  sore  rewe.’’ 


With  that  the  cherl  his  clubbe  gan 
shake, 

Frounyng  his  eyen  gan  to  make, 

And  hidous  chere  ; as  man  in  rage 
For  ire  he  brente  in  his  visage. 
Whanne  that  [he]  herdhvm  blamed  soo, 
He  seide,  “Oute  of  my  witte  I goo; 
To  be  discomfyt  I have  gret  wronge. 
Certis  I have  now  lyved  to  longe, 

Sith  I may  not  this  roser  kepe. 

All  quykke  I wolde  be  dolven  deepe 
If  ony  man  shal  more  repeire 
Into  this  gardyne,  for  foule  or  faire. 
Myne  herte  for  ire  goth  a-fere 
That  I lete  ony  entre  heere. 

I have  do  folie,  now  I see ; 

But  now  it  shall  amended  bee. 

Who  settith  foot  heere  ony  more, 
Truly  he  shall  repente  it  sore, 

For  no  man  moo  into  this  place 
Of  me  to  entre  shal  have  grace. 

Lever  I hadde  with  swerdis  tweyne 
Thurghoute  myne  herte  in  every  veyne 
Perced  to  be  with  many  a wounde, 
Thanneslouthe  shulde  in  mebe  founde. 
From  hennes  forth,  bynyght  or  day, 

1 shall  defende  it,  if  I mav, 

Withouten  ony  excepcioun 
Of  ech  maner  condicioun. 

And  if  I it  env  man  graunte, 

Holdeth  me  for  recreaunte.” 

Thanne  Daungeronhis  feet  gan  stonde. 
And  hente  a burdoun  in  his  honde. 
Wroth  in  his  ire,  ne  lefte  he  nought 
But  thurgh  the  verger  he  hath  sought ; 
If  he  myght  fvnde  hole  or  trace, 
Where-thurgh  that  me  mote  forth  by 
pace, 


54 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Or  ony  gappe,  he  dide  it  close, 

That  no  man  myghte  touche  a rose. 

Of  the  roser  all  aboute 
He  shitteth  every  man  withoute. 

Thus  day  by  day  Daunger  is  wers. 

More  wondirfull,  and  more  dyvers, 

And  feller  eke  than  evere  he  was. 

For  hym  full  ofte  I synge  “alias,” 

For  I ne  may  nought,  thurgh  his  ire, 
Recovere  that  I moost  desire. 

Myne  herte,  alias,  wole  brest  a-twoo, 
For  Bialacoil  I wratthed  soo; 

For  certeynly  in  every  membre 
I quake  whanne  I me  remembre 
Of  the  bothon  which  I wolde 
Full  ofte  a day  sene  and  biholde. 

And  whanne  I thenke  upon  the  kisse. 
And  how  mych  joye  and  blisse 
I hadde  thurgh  the  savour  swete. 

For  wante  of  it  I grone  and  grete. 

Me  thenkith  I fele  yit  in  my  nose 
The  swete  savour  of  the  rose. 

And  now  I woot  that  I mote  goo 
So  fer  the  freshe  floures  froo, 

To  me  full  welcome  were  the  deth. 
Absens  therof  alias  me  sleeth. 

For  whilom  with  this  Rose,  alias, 

I touched  nose,  mouth,  and  face ; 

But  now  the  deth  I must  abide. 

But  love  consente  another  tyde 
That  onys  I touche  may  and  kisse, 

I trowe  my  peyne  shall  never  lisse. 
Theron  is  all  my  coveitise. 

Which  brent  myn  herte  in  many  wise. 
Now  shal  repaire  agayn  sighinge, 
Longwaccheonnyghtis,andnoslepinge, 
Thought  in  wisshing,  torment  and  woo. 
With  many  a turnyng  to  and  froo. 

That  half  my  peyne  I can  not  telle, 


For  I am  fallen  into  helle 
From  paradys,  and  wel  the  more 
My  turment  greveth  more  and  more. 
Anoieth  now  the  bittirnesse, 

That  I to  forn  have  felt  swetnesse. 

And  W ikkid-T  unge  thurgh  hisfalshede 
Causeth  all  my  woo  and  drede. 

On  me  he  leieth  a pitous  charge, 
Bi-cause  his  tunge  was  to  large. 

Now  it  is  tyme  shortly  that  I 
Telle  you  som-thyng  of  Ielousie, 

That  was  in  gret  suspecioun. 

Aboute  hym  lefte  he  no  masoun, 

That  stoon  coude  leye,  ne  querrour; 
He  hirede  hem  to  make  a tour. 

And  first,  the  roses  forto  kepe, 

Aboute  hem  made  he  a diche  deepe. 
Right  wondir  large,  and  also  broode. 
Upon  the  whiche  also  stode 
Of  squared  stoon  a sturdy  wall, 

Which  on  a cragge  was  founded  all. 
And  right  grete  thikkenesse  eke  it  bare 
Abouten  it  was  founded  square, 

An  hundred  fademe  on  every  side. 

It  was  aliche  longe  and  wide ; 

Lest  ony  tyme  it  were  assayled, 

Ful  wel  aboute  it  was  batayled, 

And  rounde  enviroun  eke  were  sette 
Ful  many  a riche  and  faire  tourette. 

At  every  corner  of  this  wall 
Was  sette  a tour  full  pryncipall, 

And  everich  hadde,  withoute  fable, 

A porte-colys  defensable 
To  kepe  of  enemyes,  and  to  greve 
That  there  her  force  wolde  preve. 

And  eke  amydde  this  purprise 
Was  maad  a tour  of  gret  maistrise ; 

A fairer  saugh  no  man  with  sight, 

55 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Large,  and  wide,  and  of  gret  myght. 
They  dredde  noon  assaut 
Of  gynne,  gunne,  nor  skaffaut. 

The  temprure  of  the  mortere 
Was  maad  of  lycour  wonder  dere, 

Of  quykke  lyme,  persant  and  egre. 
The  which  was  tempred  with  vynegre. 
The  stoon  was  hard  of  ademant, 
Wherof  they  made  the  foundement. 
The  tour  was  rounde,  maad  in  compas ; 
In  all  this  world  no  riccher  was, 

Ne  better  ordeigned  therwith-all. 
Aboute  the  tour  was  maad  a wall, 

So  that  bitwixt  that  and  the  tour 
Rosers  were  sette  of  swete  savour 
With  many  roses  that  thei  bere. 

And  eke  withynne  the  castell  were 
Spryngoldes,  gunnes,  bows  and  archers, 
And  eke  aboven  atte  corners 
Men  seyn  over  the  walle  stonde 
Grete  engynes,  who  were  nygh  honde. 
And  in  the  kernels  heere  and  there 
Of  Arblasters  grete  plente  were; 

Noon  armure  myght  her  stroke  with- 
stonde, 

It  were  foly  to  prece  to  honde. 
Withoute  the  diche  were  lystes  maade 
With  wall  batayled  large  and  brade, 
For  men  and  hors  shulde  not  atteyne 
To  neighe  the  dyche  over  the  pleyne. 
Thus  Ielousie  hath  enviroun 
Sette  aboute  his  garnysoun, 

With  walles  rounde  and  diche  depe, 
Oonly  the  roser  forto  kepe. 

And  Daunger  bere  erly  and  late 
The  keyes  of  the  utter  gate, 

The  whiche  openeth  toward  the  eest. 
And  he  hadde  with  hym  atte  leest 
Thrittv  servauntes,  echon  bv  name. 


That  other  gate  kepte  Shame, 

Which  openede,  as  it  was  couth, 
Toward  the  part[i]e  of  the  south. 
Sergeauntes  assigned  were  hir  too 
Ful  many,  hir  wille  forto  doo. 

Thanne  Drede  hadde  in  hir  baillie 
The  kepyng  of  the  Conestablerye, 
Toward  the  north  I undirstonde, 

That  openyde  upon  the  lyfte  honde. 
The  which  for  no  thyng  may  be  sure 
But  if  she  do  bisy  cure, 

Erly  on  morowe  and  also  late, 
Strongly  to  shette  and  barre  the  gate. 
Of  every  thing  that  she  may  see 
Drede  is  aferd,  wher  so  she  be ; 

For  with  a puff  of  litell  wynde 
Drede  is  a-stonyed  in  hir  mynde. 
Therfore  for  stelyng  of  the  Rose 
I rede  hir  nought  the  yate  unclose; 

A foulis  flight  wole  make  hir  flee, 

And  eke  a shadowe  if  she  it  see. 

Thanne  Wikked-Tunge,  full  of  envye, 
With  soudiours  of  Normandye, 

As  he  that  causeth  all  the  bate, 

Was  keper  of  the  fourthe  gate. 

And  also  to  the  tother  three 
He  wente  full  ofte  forto  see. 

Whanne  his  lotte  was  to  wake  anyght. 
His  instrumentis  wolde  he  dight 
Forto  blowe  and  make  sowne 
(Ofte  thanne  he  hath  enchesoun) 

And  walken  oft  upon  the  wall, 

Corners  and  wikettis  over  all 
Full  narwe  serchen  and  espie. 

Though  he  nought  fonde,  y it  wole  he  lye 
Discordaunt  ever  fro  armonye. 

And  distoned  from  melodie. 

Controve  he  wolde,  and  foule  fayle 

56 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


With  hornepipes  of  Cornewaile; 

In  floytes  made  he  discordaunce. 

And  in  his  musyk  with  myschaunce, 

He  wolde  seyn  with  notes  newe 
That  he  fonde  no  womman  trewe, 

Ne  that  he  saugh  never  in  his  lyf 
Unto  hir  husbonde  a trewe  wyf ; 

Ne  noon  so  ful  of  honeste, 

That  she  nyl  laughe  and  mery  be 
Whanne  that  she  hereth,  or  may  espie, 

A man  speken  of  leccherie. 

Everiche  of  hem  hath  somme  vice ; 

Oon  is  dishonest,  another  is  nyce ; 

If  oon  be  full  of  vylanye, 

Another  hath  a likerous  ighe ; 

If  oon  be  full  of  wantonesse, 

Another  is  a chideresse. 

Thus  Wikked  Tunge  (god  yeve  hem 
shame) 

Can  putt  hem  everychone  in  blame 
Withoute  desert,  and  causeles. 

He  lieth,  though  they  ben  giltles. 

I have  pite  to  sene  the  sorwe 
That  waketh  bothe  eve  and  morwe, 

To  Innocentis  doith  such  grevaunce. 

I pray  god  yeve  hym  evel  chaunce, 

That  he  ever  so  bisie  is 
Of  ony  womman  to  seyn  amys. 

Eke  lelousie  God  confounde, 

That  hath  maad  a tour  so  rounde, 

And  made  aboute  a garisoun 
To  sette  Bealacoil  in  prisoun, 

The  which  is  shette  there  in  the  tour 
Ful  longe  to  holde  there  sojour, 

There  forto  lyven  in  penaunce. 

And  forto  do  hym  more  grevaunce 
Ther  hath  ordeyned  lelousie 
An  olde  vekke  forto  espye 

57 


The  maner  of  his  governaunce. 

The  whiche  devel  in  hir  enfaunce 
Hadde  lerned  of  loves  arte, 

And  of  his  pleyes  toke  hir  parte. 

She  was  expert  in  his  servise, 

She  knewe  eche  wrenche  and  everyfgise 
Of  love,  and  every  wile; 

It  was  [the]  harder  hir  to  gile. 

Of  Bealacoil  she  toke  ay  hede, 

That  evere  he  lyveth  in  woo  and  drede. 
He  kepte  hym  koy  and  eye  pryve, 

Lest  in  hym  she  hadde  see 
Ony  foly  countenaunce ; 

For  she  knewe  all  the  olde  daunce. 
And  aftir  this,  whanne  lelousie 
Hadde  Bealacoil  in  his  baillie, 

And  shette  hym  up  that  was  so  fre  ; 
For  seure  of  hym  he  wolde  be. 

He  trusteth  sore  in  his  castell, 

The  stronge  werk  hym  liketh  well. 

He  dradde  not  that  no  glotouns 
Shulde  stele  his  roses  or  bothouns. 

The  roses  weren  assured  all, 

Defenced  with  the  stronge  wall. 

Now  lelousie  full  well  may  be 
Of  drede  devoide  in  liberte, 

Whether  that  he  slepe  or  wake. 

For  his  roses  may  noon  be  take. 

But  I alias  now  morne  shall 
Bi-cause  I was  withoute  the  wall. 

Full  moche  doole  and  moone  I made. 
Who  hadde  wist  what  woo  I hadde, 

I trowe  he  wolde  have  had  pite. 

Love  to  deere  hadde  soolde  to  me 
The  good,  that  of  his  love  hadde  I. 

I wente  a bought  it  all  queyntly, 

But  now,  thurgh  doublyng  of  my  peyne, 
I see  he  wolde  it  selle  ageyne, 


H 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  me  a newe  bargeyn  leere, 

The  which  all-oute  the  more  is  deere ; 
For  the  solace  that  I have  lorn, 
Thanne  I hadde  it  never  aforn. 
Certayn  I am  ful  like  in  deede 
To  hym  that  caste  in  erthe  his  seede, 
And  hath  joie  of  the  newe  spryng, 
Whanne  it  greneth  in  the  gynnyng, 
And  is  also  faire  and  fresh  of  flour, 
Lusty  to  seen,  swoote  of  odour, 

But  er  he  it  in  sheves  shere, 

Mav  falle  a weder  that  shal  it  dere. 
And  maken  it  to  fade  and  falle, 

The  stalke,  the  greyne,  and  floures  alle, 
That  to  the  tylyer  is  fordone 
The  hope  that  he  hadde  to  soone. 

I drede  certeyn  that  so  fare  I ; 

For  hope  and  travaile  sikerlye 
Ben  me  byraft  all  with  a storme; 

The  floure  nel  seeden  of  my  corne. 

For  Love  hath  so  avaunced  me 
Whanne  I bigan  my  pryvite 
To  Bialacoil  all  forto  telle. 

Whom  I ne  fonde  froward  ne  felle, 

But  toke  a gree  all  hool  my  play. 

But  Love  is  of  so  hard  assay. 

That  all  at  oonys  he  reved  me, 
Whanne  I wente  best  aboven  have  be. 
It  is  of  love  as  of  fortune, 

That  chaungeth  ofte,  and  nyl  contune ; 
Which  whilom  wole  on  folkes  smyle, 
And  glowmbe  on  hem  another  while; 
Now  freend,  now  foo,shaltowhir  feele. 
For  [in]  a twynklyng,  turnehirwheele, 
She  can  writhe  hir  heed  awey  ; 

This  is  the  concours  of  hir  pley. 

She  canne  arise  that  doth  morne, 

And  whirle  adown,  and  over  turne. 
Who  sittith  hieghst,  but  as  hir  lust? 


A foole  is  he  that  wole  hir  trust. 

For  it  is  I that  am  come  down 
Thurgh  change  and  revolucioun. 

Sith  Bealacoil  mote  fro  me  twynne, 
Shette  in  the  prisoun  yonde  withynne. 
His  absence  at  myn  herte  I fele. 

For  all  my  joye  and  all  myne  hele 
Was  in  hym  and  in  the  rose, 

That  but  yon  walle,  which  hymdoth  close, 
Opene  that  I may  hym  see, 

Love  nyl  not  that  I cured  be 
Of  the  peynes  that  I endure, 

Nor  of  my  cruel  aventure. 

A,  Bialacoil,  myn  owne  deere, 

Though  thou  be  now  a prisonere, 

Kepe  atte  leste  thyne  herte  to  me, 

And  suffre  not  that  it  daunted  be ; 

Ne  late  not  Ielousie  in  his  rage 
Putten  thine  herte  in  no  servage. 

A1  though  he  chastice  thee  withoute. 
And  make  thy  body  unto  hym  loute, 
Have  herte  as  hard  as  dyamaunt, 
Stedefast,  and  nought  pliaunt ; 

In  prisoun  though  thi  body  be. 

At  large  kepe  thyne  herte  free. 

A trewe  herte  wole  not  plie. 

For  no  manace  that  it  may  drye. 

If  Ielousie  doth  thee  payne, 

Quyte  hym  his  while  thus  agayne 
To  venge  thee  atte  leest  in  thought. 

If  other  way  thou  mai[e]st  nought; 

And  in  this  wise  sotilly 
Worche  and  Wynne  the  maistrie. 

But  yit  I am  in  gret  affray 
Lest  thou  do  not  as  I say ; 

I drede  thou  canst  me  gret  maugre 
That  thou  enprisoned  art  for  me. 

But  that  [is]  not  for  my  trespas. 

For  thurgh  me  never  discovred  was 
58 


* 


' 


. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  thyng  that  oughte  be  secree. 

Wei  more  anoye  is  in  me 
Than  is  in  thee  of  this  myschaunce, 
For  I endure  more  harde  penaunce 
Than  ony  [man]  can  seyn  or  thynke; 
That  for  the  sorwe  almost  I synke. 
Whanne  I remembre  me  of  my  woo. 
Full  nygh  out  of  my  witt  I goo. 
Inward  myn  herte  I feele  blede ; 

For  comfortles  the  deth  I drede. 

Owe  I not  wel  to  have  distresse 
Whanne  false  thurgh  hir  wikkednesse 
And  traitours,  that  arn  envyous, 

To  noyen  me  be  so  curious? 

A,  Bialacoil,  full  wel  I see 

That  they  hem  shape  to  disceyve  thee, 

To  make  thee  buxom  to  her  lawe, 

And  with  her  corde  thee  to  drawe 
Where  so  hem  lust,  right  at  her  wille ; 
I drede  they  have  thee  brought  thertille. 
Withoute  comfort  thought  me  sleeth, 
This  gamewole  bryngemetomy deeth ; 
For  if  youre  good[e]  wille  I leese, 

I mote  be  deed,  I may  not  chese ; 

And  if  that  thou  foryete  me, 

Myne  herte  shal  nevere  in  likyng  be, 
Nor  elles  where  fynde  solace, 

If  I be  putt  out  of  youre  grace, 

As  it  shal  never  been,  I hope. 

Thanne  shulde  I fallen  in  wanhope. 
Allas — in  wanhope  ? nay  pardee, 

For  I wole  never  dispeired  be. 

If  hope  me  faile,  thanne  am  I 
Ungracious  and  unworthy. 

In  hope  I wole  comforted  be, 

For  Love,  whanne  he  bitaught  hir  me, 
Seide  that  Hope,  where  so  I goo, 
Shulde  ay  be  reles  to  my  woo. 

But  what  and  she  my  baalis  beete, 


And  be  to  me  curteis  and  sweete? 

She  is  in  no  thyng  full  certeyne. 

Lovers  she  putt  in  full  gret  peyne, 

And  makith  hem  with  woo  to  deele  ; 
Hir  faire  biheeste  disceyveth  feele. 

For  she  wole  byhote  sikirly. 

And  failen  aftir  outrely. 

A,  that  is  a full  noyous  thyng  ! 

For  many  a lover  in  lovyng 
Hangeth  upon  hir,  and  trusteth  fast, 
Whiche  leese  her  travel  at  the  last. 
Ofthyng  to  comen  she  woot  right  nought ; 
Therfore  if  it  be  wysely  sought, 

Hir  counseill  foly  is  to  take. 

For  many  tymeswhanne  shewole  make 
A full  good  silogisme,  I dreede 
That  aftirward  ther  shal  in  deede 
Folwe  an  evell  conclusioun. 

This  putte  me  in  confusioun  ; 

For  many  tymes  I have  it  seen 
That  many  have  bigyled  been 
For  trust  that  they  have  sette  in  hope, 
Which  felle  hem  aftirward  a-slope. 

But  nevertheles  yit  gladly  she  wolde 
That  he,  that  wole  hymwith  hir  holde, 
Hadde  alle  tymes  his  purpos  clere, 
Withoute  deceyte  or  ony  were ; 

That  she  desireth  sikirly. 

Whanne  I hir  blamed,  I dide  foly.. 

But  what  avayleth  hir  good  wille? 
Whanne  she  ne  may  staunche  my 
stounde  ille. 

That  helpith  litel  that  she  may  doo, 
Outake  biheest  unto  my  woo. 

And  heeste  certeyn,  in  no  wise 
Withoute  yift  is  not  to  prise. 

Whanne  heest  and  deede  a-sundry  varie. 
They  doon  a gret  contrarie. 

Thus  am  I possed  up  and  doun 

59 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


With  dool,  thought,  and  confusioun ; 
Of  my  disese  ther  is  no  noumbre. 
Daunger  and  Shame  me  encumbre, 
Drede  also,  and  Ielousie, 

And  Wikked-Tunge  full  of  envie, 

Of  whiche  the  sharpe  and  cruel  ire 
Full  ofte  me  putte  in  gret  martire. 
They  han  my  joye  fully  lette, 

Sith  Bialacoil  they  have  bishette 
Fro  me  in  prisoun  wikkidly, 

Whom  I love  so  entierly 
That  it  wole  my  bane  bee 
But  I the  sonner  may  hym  see. 

And  yit  more  over,  wurst  of  all, 

Ther  is  sette  to  kepe  (foule  hir  bifall !) 
A rympled  vekke,  ferre  ronne  in  age, 
Frownyng  and  yelowe  in  hir  visage, 
Which  in  a-wayte  lyth  day  and  nyght, 
That  noon  of  hym  may  have  a sight. 
Now  mote  my  sorwe  enforced  be  ; 
Full  soth  it  is  that  Love  yaf  me 
Three  wonder  yiftes,  of  his  grace, 
Whiche  I have  lorn  now  in  this  place, 
Sith  they  ne  may,  withoute  drede, 
Helpen  but  lytel,  who  taketh  heede. 
For  here  availeth  no  Swete-Thought, 
And  Sweete-Speche  helpith  right 
nought ; 

The  thridde  was  called  Swete-Lokyng, 
That  now  is  lorn  without  lesyng. 

Yiftes  were  faire,  but  not  forthy 
They  helpe  me  but  symplely 
But  Bialacoil  loosed  be. 

To  gon  at  large  and  to  be  free. 

For  hym  my  lyf  lyth  all  in  doute, 

But  if  he  come  the  rather  oute. 

Allas,  I trowe  it  wole  not  bene  ! 

For  how  shult  I evermore  hym  sene  ? 
He  may  not  oute,  and  that  is  wronge, 


By  cause  the  tour  is  so  stronge. 
Howshuldeheoute?  By whosprowesse, 
Oute  of  so  stronge  a forteresse  ? 

By  me  certeyn  it  nyl  be  doo  ; 

God  woot  I have  no  witte  therto. 

But  wel  I woot  I was  in  rage, 

Whonne  I to  Love  dide  homage. 

Who  was  the  cause,  in  sothfastnesse. 
But  hir-silf  Dame  Idelnesse, 

Which  me  conveied,  thurgh  my  praiere. 
To  entre  into  that  faire  verger  ? 

She  was  to  blame  me  to  leve. 

The  which  now  doth  me  soore  greve. 
A foolis  word  is  nought  to  trowe, 

Ne  worth  an  appel  forto  love. 

Men  shulde  hym  snybbe  bittirly 
At  pryme  temps  of  his  foly. 

I was  a fool  and  she  me  leevede, 
Thurgh  whom  I am  right  nought 
releeved  ; 

She  accomplisshid  all  my  wille, 

That  now  me  greveth  wondir  ille. 
Resoun  me  seide  what  shulde  falle. 

A fool  my  silf  I may  wel  calle 
That  love  asyde  I hadde  not  leyde. 
And  trowed  that  dame  Resoun  seide. 
Resoun  hadde  bothe  skile  and  ryght, 
Whanne  she  me  blamed  with  all  hir 
myght 

To  medle  of  love  that  hath  me  shent  ; 
But  certyn  now  I wole  repente. 

And  shulde  I repente  ? Nay,  parde, 

A fals  traitour  thanne  shulde  I be. 

The  develes  engynnes  wolde  me  take. 
If  I my  lorde  wolde  forsake. 

Or  Bialacoil  falsly  bitrave. 

Shulde  I at  myscheefhate  hym?  Nay, 
Sith  he  now  for  his  curtesie 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Is  in  prisoun  of  Ielousie. 

Curtesie  certeyn  dide  he  me, 

So  mych  that  may  not  yolden  be, 
Whanne  he  the  hay  passen  me  lete 
To  kisse  the  Rose  faire  and  swete ; 
Shulde  I therfore  cunne  hym  mawgre  ? 
Nay,  certeynly,  it  shal  not  be; 

For  Love  shall  nevere,  yif  God  wille. 
Here  of  me,  thurgh  word  or  wille, 
Offence  or  complaynt  more  or  lesse, 
Neither  of  Hope  nor  Idilnesse. 

For  certis  it  were  wrong  that  I 
Hated  hem  for  her  curtesie. 

Ther  is  not  ellys  but  suffre  and  thynke, 
And  waken  whanne  I shulde  wynke ; 
Abide  in  hopetil  Love, thurgh  chaunce, 
Sende  me  socour  or  allegeaunce, 
Expectant  ay  till  I may  mete 
To  geten  mercy  of  that  swete. 

Whilom  I thenke  how  love  to  me 
Seide  he  wolde  take  att  gree 
My  servise,  if  unpacience 
Caused  me  to  done  offence. 

He  seide,  “In  thank  I shal  it  take, 

And  high  maister  eke  thee  make, 

If  wikkednesse  ne  reve  it  thee ; 

But,  sone,  I trowe  that  shall  not  be.” 
These  were  his  wordis  by  and  by ; 

It  semede  he  lovede  me  trewely. 

Now  is  ther  not  but  serve  hym  wele, 

If  that  I thenke  his  thanke  to  fele  ; 

My  good,  myne  harme  lyth  hoolinme. 

In  love  may  no  defaute  be, 

For  trewe  Love  ne  failide  never  man  ; 
Sothly  the  faute  mote  nedys  than, 

As  god  forbede,  be  founde  in  me. 

And  how  it  cometh,  I can  not  see ; 

Now  late  it  goon  as  it  may  goo, 

61 


Whether  Lovewolesocoure  meorsloo ; 
He  may  do  hool  on  me  his  wille ; 

I am  so  sore  bounde  hym  tille, 

From  his  servise  I may  not  fleen ; 

For  lyf  and  deth,  withouten  wene, 

Is  in  his  hande,  I may  not  chese, 

He  may  me  doo  bothewynne  and  leese. 
And  sith  so  sore  he  doth  me  greve, 

Yit  if  my  lust  he  wolde  acheve 
To  Bialacoil  goodly  to  be, 

I yeve  no  force  what  felle  on  me. 

For  though  I dye  as  I mote  nede, 

I praye  Love  of  his  goodlyhede 
To  Bialacoil  do  gentylnesse, 

For  whom  I lyve  in  such  distresse, 
That  I mote  deyen  for  penaunce. 

But  first  withoute  repentaunce, 

I wole  me  confesse  in  good  entent. 

And  make  in  haste  my  testament, 

As  lovers  doon  that  feelen  smerte. 

To  Bialacoil  leve  I myne  herte 
All  hool  withoute  departyng, 

Or  doublenesse  of  repentyng. 

Thus  as  I made  my  passage 
In  compleynt,  and  in  cruel  rage, 

And  I not  where  to  fynde  a leche 
That  couthe  unto  myne  helpyng  eche, 
Sodeynly  agayn  comen  doun 
Out  of  hir  tour  I saugh  Resoun, 
Discrete,  and  wis,  and  full  plesaunt, 
And  of  hir  porte  full  avenaunt. 

The  righte  weye  she  tooke  to  me, 
Which  stode  in  gret  perplexite, 

That  was  posshed  in  every  side, 

That  I nyst  where  I myght  abide ; 

Till  she  demurely  sad  of  chere, 

Seide  to  me,  as  she  come  nere, 

“ Myne  owne  freend,  art  thouy  itgreved  ? 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


How  is  this  quarell  yit  acheved 
Of  Loves  side?  Anoon  me  telle. 

Hast  thou  not  yit  of  Love  thi  fille  ? 

Art  thou  not  wery  of  thy  servise 
That  the  hath  in  siche  wise? 

What  joye  hast  thou  in  thy  lovyng? 

Is  it  swete  or  bitter  thyng  ? 

Canst  thou  yit  chese,  late  me  see, 

What  best  thi  socour  myght  be? 

Thou  servest  a full  noble  lorde, 
Thatmaketh  theethrallfor  thi  rewarde, 
Which  ay  renewith  thi  turment, 

With  foly  so  he  hath  thee  blent. 

Thou  fell  in  mycheef  thilke  day 
Whanne  thou  didist,  the  sothe  to  say, 
Obeysaunce  and  eke  homage. 

Thou  wroughtest  no-thyng  as  the  sage, 
Whanne  thou  bicam  his  liege  man  ; 
Thou  didist  a gret  foly  than, 

Thou  wistest  not  what  fell  therto. 

With  what  lord  thou  haddist  to  do ; 

If  thou  haddist  hym  wel  knowe, 

Thou  haddist  nought  be  brought  so 
lowe. 

For  if  thou  wistest  what  it  were. 

Thou  noldist  serve  hym  half  a yeer, 

Not  a weke  nor  half  a day, 

Ne  yit  an  hour  withoute  delay, 

Ne  never  ha  lovede  paramours. 

His  lordshipp  is  so  full  of  shoures, 
Knowest  hym  ought?” 

L' Amaunt.  “Ye,  Dame,  parde. 

Raisoun.  “Nay,  nay.” 

L' Amaunt.  “ Yis,  I.” 

Raisoun.  “Wherof?  late  se.” 

L' Amaunt.  “Of  that  he  seide  I 
shulde  be 

Glad  to  have  sich  lord  as  he. 

And  maister  of  sich  seignorie.” 

62 


Raisoun.  “ Knowist  hym  no  more  ? ” 
L' Amaunt.  “Nay,  certis,  I, 

Save  that  he  yaf  me  rewles  there, 

And  wente  his  wey,  I nyste  where, 
And  I aboode  bounde  in  balaunce.” 
Raisoun.  “Lo,  there  a noble  coni- 
saunce ! 

But  I wille  that  thou  knowe  hym  now, 
Gynnyng  and  eende,  sith  that  thou 
Art  so  anguisshous  and  mate, 
Disfigured  oute  of  a-state ; 

Ther  may  no  wrecche  have  more  of  woo, 
Ne  caytyfe  noon  enduren  soo. 

It  were  to  every  man  sittyng 
Of  his  lord  have  knowleching ; 

For  if  thou  knewe  hym  oute  of  doute. 
Lightly  thou  shulde  escapen  oute 
Of  the  prisoun  that  marreth  thee.” 

Li  Amaunt.  “Ye,  Dame,  sith  my  lord 
is  he, 

And  I his  man  maad  with  myn  honde, 
I wolde  right  fayne  undirstonde 
To  knowen  of  what  kynde  he  be, 

If  ony  wolde  enforme  me.” 

Raisoun.  “I  wolde,”  seide  Resoun, 
“ thee  lere 

Sith  thou  to  lerne  hast  sich  desire. 

And  shewe  thee  withouten  fable, 

A thyng  that  is  not  demonstrable. 
Thou  shalt  [wife]  withouten  science. 
And  knowe  withouten  experience, 
The  thyng  that  may  not  knowen  be, 
Ne  wist  ne  shewid  in  no  degre. 

Thou  maist  the  sothe  of  it  not  witen. 
Though  in  thee  it  were  writen. 

Thou  shalt  not  knowe  therof  more. 
While  thou  art  reuled  by  his  lore. 

But  unto  hym  that  love  wole  Hee 
The  knotte  may  unclosed  bee, 


■ 





THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Which  hath  to  thee,  as  it  is  founde. 

So  long  be  knette  and  not  unbounde. 
Now  sette  wel  thyne  entencioun. 

To  here  of  love  discripcioun. 

Love  it  is  an  hatefull  pees, 

A free  acquitaunce  withoute  relees, 

A truthe  frette  full  of  falsheede ; 

A sikernesse  all  sette  in  drede, 

In  hertis  a dispeiryng  hope, 

And  full  of  hope  it  is  wanhope ; 

Wise  woodnesse  and  wode  resoun, 

A swete  perell  in  to  droune. 

An  hevy  birthen  lyght  to  bere ; 

A wikked  wawe  alwey  to  ware, 

It  is  Karibdous  perilous; 

Disagreable  and  gracious ; 

It  is  discordaunce  that  can  accorde, 
And  accordaunce  to  discorde; 

It  is  kunnyng  withoute  science, 
Wisdome  withoute  sapience, 

Witte  withoute  discrecioun, 

Havoire  withoute  possessioun ; 

It  is  sike  hele  and  hool  sekenesse, 

A thrust  drowned  in  dronknesse ; 

An  helthe  full  of  maladie, 

And  charite  full  of  envie ; 

An  hunger  full  of  habundaunce, 

And  a gredy  suffisaunce; 

Delite  right  ful  of  hevynesse, 

And  drerihed  full  of  gladnesse ; 

Bitter  swetnesse  and  swete  errour, 
Right  evell  savoured  good  savour ; 
Syn[ne]  that  pardoun  hath  withynne, 
And  pardoun  spotted  oute  with  synne ; 
A peyne  also  it  is  joious, 

And  felonye  right  pitous ; 

Also  pley  that  selde  is  stable, 

And  stedefast  [stat]  right  mevable. 


A strengthe  weyked  to  stonde  upright. 
And  feblenesse  full  of  myght ; 

Witte  unavised,  sage  folie, 

And  joie  full  of  turmentrie; 

A laughter  it  is,  weping  ay, 

Reste  that  traveyleth  nyght  and  day  ; 
Also  a swete  helle  it  is. 

And  a soroufull  paradys ; 

A plesaunt  gayl  and  esy  prisoun. 

And,  full  of  froste,  [a]  somer  sesoun, 
Pryme  temps  full  of  frostes  white, 

And  May  devoide  of  al  delite ; 

With  seer  braunches  blossoms  ungrene. 
And  newe  fruyt  fillid  with  wynter  tene. 
It  is  a slowe  may  not  forbere 
Ragges  ribaned  with  gold  to  were ; 
For  also  well  wole  love  be  sette 
Under  ragges  as  riche  rochette, 

And  eke. as  wel  by  amourettes 
In  mournyng  blak,  as  bright  burnettes. 
For  noon  is  of  so  mochel  pris, 

Ne  no  man  founden  [is]  so  wys, 

Ne  noon  so  high  is  of  parage, 

Ne  no  man  founde  of  witt  so  sage, 

No  man  so  hardy,  ne  so  wight, 

Ne  no  man  of  so  mychel  myght. 

Noon  so  fulfilled  of  bounte, 

That  hewith  love  [ne]  maydaunted  be. 
All  the  world  holdith  this  wey. 

Love  makith  all  to  goon  myswey, 

But  it  be  they  of  yvel  lyf 
Whom  Genius  cursith  man  and  wyf. 
That  wrongly  werke  ageyn  nature. 
Noon  such  I love,  ne  have  no  cure 
Of  sich  as  loves  servauntes  bene, 

And  wole  not  by  my  counsel  flene. 

For  I ne  preise  that  lovyng, 
Wherthurgh  men  at  the  laste  eendyng 
Shall  calle  hem  wrecchis  full  of  woo, 

63 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Love  greveth  hem  and  shendith  soo. 

But  if  thou  wolt  wel  love  eschewe 
Forto  escape  out  of  his  mewe, 

And  make  al  hool  thi  sorwe  to  slake, 

No  bettir  counsel  maist  thou  take 
Than  thynke  to  fleen  wel  I-wis. 

May  nought  helpe  elles ; for  wite  thou 
this : 

If  thou  lie  it,  it  shal  flee  thee ; 

Folowe  it,  and  folowen  shal  it  thee.” 

Whanne  I hadde  herde  all  Resoun  seyne, 
Which  hadde  spilt  hir  speche  in  veyne, 
“Dame,”  seide  I,  “I  dar  wel  sey, 

Of  this  avaunt  me  wel  I may, 

That  from  youre  scole  so  devyaunt 
I am,  that  never  the  more  avaunt 
Right  nought  am  I thurgh  youre 
doctrine. 

I dulle  under  youre  discipline, 

I wote  no  more  than  wist  [I]  ever; 

To  me  so  contrarie  and  so  fer 
Is  every  thing  that  ye  me  lere, 

And  yit  I can  it  all  by  par  cuer , 

Myne  herte  foryetith  therof  right 
nought, 

It  is  so  writen  in  my  thought ; 

And  depe  greven  it  is  so  tendir 
That  all  by  herte  I can  it  rendre, 

And  rede  it  over  comunely ; 

But  to  my-silf  lewedist  am  I. 

But  sith  ye  love  discreven  so, 

And  lak  and  preise  it  bothe  twoo, 

Defyneth  it  into  this  letter 

That  I may  thenke  on  it  the  better; 

For  I herde  never  diffyne  it  ere, 

And  wilfully  I wolde  it  lere.” 

Raisoun.  “ If  love  be  serched  wel  and 
sought, 


It  is  a sykenesse  of  the  thought. 
Annexed  and  knet  bitwixe  tweyne 
Which  male  and  female  with  oo  cheyne 
So  frely  byndith  that  they  nyll  twynne. 
Whether  so  therof  they  leese  or  wynne. 
The  roote  springith  thurgh  hoote 
brennyng 

Into  disordinat  desiryng 
Forto  kissen  and  enbrace, 

And  at  her  lust  them  to  solace ; 

Of  other  thyng  love  recchith  nought 
But  setteth  her  herte  and  all  her  thought. 
More  for  delectacioun 
Than  ony  procreacioun 
Of  other  fruyt  by  engendrure  ; 

(Which  love  to  god  is  not  plesure), 

For  of  her  body  fruyt  to  gete 
They  yeve  no  force,  they  are  so  sette 
Upon  delite  to  pley  in-feere. 

And  somme  have  also  this  manere. 

To  feynen  hem  for  love  seke. 

Sich  love  I preise  not  at  a leke, 

For  paramours  they  do  but  feyne. 

To  love  truly  they  disdeyne ; 

They  falsen  ladies  traitoursly. 

And  swerne  hem  othes  utterly, 

With  many  a lesyng  and  many  a fable. 
And  all  they  fynden  deceyvable; 

And  whanne  they  han  her  lust  [yjgeten. 
The  hoote  ernes  they  al  foryeten. 
Wymmen  the  harme  they  bien  lull  sore 
But  men  this  thenken  evermore; 

That  lasse  harme  is,  so  mote  I the, 
Deceyve  them  than  deceyved  be ; 

And  namely  where  they  ne  may 
Fynde  none  other  mene  wey. 

For  I wote  wel,  in  sothfastnesse. 

What  wight  doth  now  his  bisynesse 
With  ony  womman  forto  dele 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


For  ony  lust  that  he  may  fele, 

But  if  it  be  for  engendrure, 

He  doth  trespasse,  I you  ensure. 

For  he  shulde  setten  all  his  wille 
To  geten  a likly  thyng  hym  tille, 

And  to  sustene,  if  he  myght. 

And  kepe  forth,  by  kyndes  right, 

His  owne  lyknesse  and  semblable. 

For  because  all  is  corumpable, 

And  fade  shulde  successioun, 

Ne  were  ther  generacioun 
Oure  sectis  strene  forto  save, 

Whanne  fader  or  moder  arn  in  grave, 
Her  children  shulde,  whanne  they  ben 
deede, 

Full  diligent  ben  in  her  steede 
To  use  that  werke  on  such  a wise, 
That  oon  may  thurgh  another  rise. 
Therfore  sette  Kynde  therynne  delite; 
For  men  therynne  shulde  hem  delite, 
And  of  that  deede  be  not  erke, 

But  ofte  sithes  haunt  that  werke. 

For  noon  wolde  drawe  therof  a draught, 
Ne  were  delite  which  hath  hym  kaught. 
Thus  hath  sotilled  Dame  Nature; 

For  noon  goth  right,  I thee  ensure, 

Ne  hath  entent  hool  ne  parfit, 

For  hir  desir  is  for  delyte; 

The  which  for  tene  crece,  and  eke 
The  pley  of  love  for-ofte  seke, 

And  thrall  hem  silf  they  be  so  nyce 
Unto  the  prince  of  every  vyce; 

For  of  ech  synne  it  is  the  rote 
Unlefull  lust,  though  it  be  sote, 

And  of  all  yvell  the  racyne, 

As  Tulius  can  determyne 
(Which  in  his  tyme  was  full  sage,) 

In  a boke  he  made  of  age, 

Where  that  more  he  preyseth  eelde, 


Though  he  be  croked  and  unweelde, 
And  more  of  commendacioun 
Than  youthe  in  his  discripcioun, 

For  youthe  sette  bothe  man  and  wyf 
In  all  perell  of  soule  and  lyf, 

And  perell  is,  but  men  have  grace, 

The  perell  of  yougth[e]  forto  pace 
Withoute  ony  deth  or  distresse, 

It  is  so  full  of  wyldenesse. 

So  ofte  it  doth  shame  or  damage 
To  hym,  or  to  his  lynage. 

It  ledith  man  now  up,  now  doun, 

In  mochel  dissolucioun. 

And  makith  hym  love  yvell  companye. 
And  lede  his  lyf  disrewlilye, 

And  halt  hym  payed  with  noon  estate. 
Withynne  hym-silf  is  such  debate, 

He  chaungith  purpos  and  entente 
And  yalte  [him]  into  somme  covente, 
To  lyven  aftir  her  emprise, 

And  lesith  fredom  and  fraunchise, 
That  nature  in  hym  hadde  sette. 

The  which  ageyne  he  may  not  gette. 
If  he  there  make  his  mansioun, 

For  to  abide  professioun. 

Though  for  a tyme  his  herte  absente, 
It  may  not  fayle,  he  shal  repente, 

And  eke  abide  thilke  day 
To  leve  his  abite  and  gone  his  way ; 
And  lesith  his  worship  and  his  name, 
And  dar  not  come  ageyn  for  shame, 
But  al  his  lyf  he  doth  so  morne, 

By  cause  he  dar  not  horn  retourne. 
Fredom  of  kynde  so  lost  hath  he, 

That  never  may  recured  be, 

But  that  if  God  hym  graunte  grace 
That  he  may,  er  he  hennes  pace, 
Conteyne  undir  obedience 
Thurgh  the  vertu  of  pacience. 

65 


1 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


For  youthe  sett  man  in  all  folye. 

In  unthrift  and  [in]  ribaudie, 

In  leccherie  and  in  outrage, 

So  ofte  it  chaungith  of  corage. 

Youthe  gynneth  ofte  sich  bargeyne 
That  may  not  eende  withouten  peyne. 
In  gret  perell  is  sett  youthede, 

Delite  so  doth  his  bridil  leede. 

Delite  thushangith,drede  thee  nought, 
Bothe  mannys  body  and  his  thought 
Oonly  thurgh  youth,  [his]  chamberere, 
That  to  done  yvell  is  custommere, 

And  of  nought  elles  taketh  hede 
But  oonly  folkes  forto  lede 
Into  disporte  and  wyldenesse, 

So  [she]  is  frowarde  from  sadnesse. 

But  Eelde  drawith  hem  therfro, 

Who  wote  it  nought,  he  may  wel  goo 
And  moo  of  hem  that  now  arn  olde, 
Thatwhilom  youthhed  hadde  in  holde, 
Which  yit  remembre  of  tendir  age, 
How  it  hem  brought  in  many  a rage, 
And  many  a foly  therynne  wrought. 
But  now  that  Eelde  hath  hem  thourgh 
sought, 

They  repente  hem  of  her  folye, 

That  youthe  hem  putte  in  jupardye, 

In  perell,  and  in  myche  woo, 

And  made  hem  ofte  amys  to  do, 

And  suen  yvell  companye, 

Riot  and  avouterie. 

But  Eelde  can  ageyn  restreyne 
From  sich  folye,  and  refreyne 
And  sette  men  by  her  ordinaunce 
In  good  reule  and  in  governaunce. 

But  yvell  she  spendith  hir  servise 
For  no  man  wole  hir  love  ne  preise. 
She  is  hated,  this  wote  I welle, 


Hir  acqueyntaunce  wolae  noman  fele 
Ne  han  of  Elde  companye, 

Men  hate  to  be  of  hir  alye ; 

For  noman  wolde  bicomen  olde 
Ne  dye,  whanne  he  is  yong  and  bolde. 
And  Eelde  merveilith  right  gretlye, 
Whanne  thei  remembre  hem  inwardly, 
Of  many  a perelous  emprise, 
Whichethat  they  wrought  in  sondry  wise. 
How  evere  they  myght,  withoute  blame. 
Escape  awey  withoute  shame. 

In  youthe  withoute  damage 
Or  repreef  of  her  lynage, 

Losse  of  membre,  shedvng  of  blode, 
Perell  of  deth,  or  losse  of  good. 

Woste  thou  nought  where  Youtheabit, 
That  men  so  preisen  in  her  witt  ? 

With  Delite  she  halt  sojour, 

For  bothe  they  dwellen  in  oo  tour. 

As  longe  as  Youthe  is  in  sesoun 
They  dwellen  in  oon  mansioun. 

Delite  of  Youthe  wole  have  servise 
To  do  what  so  he  wole  devise  ; 

And  Youthe  is  redy  evermore 
Forto  obey  for  smerte  of  sore 
Unto  Delite,  and  hym  to  yive 
Hir  servise  while  that  she  may  lyve. 
Where  Elde  abit  I wole  thee  telle 
Shortly,  and  no  while  dwelle, 

For  thidir  byhoveth  thee  to  goo. 

If  deth  in  youthe  [hath]  thee  not  sloo. 

Of  this  journey  thou  maist  not  faile. 
With  hir  Labour  and  Travaile 
Logged  ben,  with  Sorwe  and  Woo 
That  never  out  of  hir  court  goo. 

Peyne  and  Distresse,  Syknesse  and  Ire 
And  Malencoly,  that  angry  sire, 

Ben  of  hir  paleys  senatours; 

Gronyngand  Grucchynghirherbejours 

66 


. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


The  day  and  nyght  hir  to  turment, 

With  cruell  deth  they  hir  present ; 

And  tellen  hir,  erliche  and  late, 

That  Deth  stont  armed  at  hir  gate. 
Thanne  brynge  they  toher  remembraunce 
The  foly  dedis  of  hir  infaunce, 

Whiche  causen  hir  to  mourne  in  woo 
That  Youthe  hath  hir  bigiled  so, 

Which  sodeynly  awey  is  hasted. 

She  wepeth  the  tyme  that  she  hath  wasted, 
Compleynyng  of  the  preterit 
And  the  present,  that  not  abit, 

And  of  hir  olde  vanite ; 

That,  but  aforn  hir  she  may  see 
In  the  future  somme  socour, 

To  leggen  hir  of  hir  dolour, 

To  graunte  hir  tyme  of  repentaunce, 

For  her  synnes  to  do  penaunce. 

And  at  the  laste  so  hir  governe 
To  wynne  the  joy  that  is  eterne, 

Fro  which  gobakward  Youthe  her  made 
In  vanite  to  droune  and  wade, — 

For  present  tyme  abidith  nought. 

It  is  more  swift  than  any  thought, 

So  litel  while  it  doth  endure 
That  ther  nys  compte  ne  mesure. 

But  how  that  evere  the  game  go 
Who  list  to  have  joie  and  mirth  also 
Of  love,  be  it  he  or  she 
High  or  lowe,  who  it  be, 

In  fruyt  they  shulde  hem  delyte ; 

Her  part  they  may  not  elles  quyte, 

To  save  hem-silf  in  honeste. 

And  yit  full  many  one  I se 
Of  wymmen,  sothly  forto  seyne, 

That  desire  and  wolde  fayne 
The  pley  of  love,  they  be  so  wilde, 

And  not  coveite  to  go  with  childe. 

And  if  with  child  they  be  perchaunce, 


They  wole  it  holde  a gret  myschaunce; 
But  what-som-ever  woo  they  fele, 
They  wole  not  pleyne  but  concele, 

But  if  it  be  ony  fool  or  nyce 
In  whom  that  Shame  hath  no  justice. 
For  to  delyte  echone  they  drawe. 

That  haunte  this  werke  bothe  high 
and  lawe, 

Save  sich  that  arn  worth  right  nought 
That  for  money  wole  be  bought. 

Such  love  I preise  in  no  wise, 

Whanne  it  is  goven  for  coveitise. 

I preisenowommanthoughshebewood 
That  yeveth  hir-silf  for  ony  good. 

For  litel  shulde  a man  telle, 

Of  hir  that  wole  hir  body  selle, 

Be  she  mayde,  be  she  wyf, 

That  quyk  wole  selle  hir,  bi  hir  lif. 
How  faire  chere  that  evere  she  make 
He  is  a wrecche,  I undirtake, 

That  loved  such  one, for  swete  or  soure, 
Though  she  hym  calle  hir  paramoure. 
And  laughethonhym,and  makith  hym 
feeste ; 

For  certeynly  no  such  beeste 
To  be  loved  is  not  worthy, 

Or  here  the  name  of  druerie. 

Noon  shulde  hir  please,  but  he  were 
woode, 

That  wole  dispoile  hym  of  his  goode. 
Yit  nevertheles  I wole  not  sey 
That  she  for  solace  and  for  pley 
Ne  may  a jewel  or  other  thyng 
Take  of  her  loves  fre  yevyng ; 

But  that  she  aske  it  in  no  wise, 

For  drede  of  shame  of  coveitise. 

And  she  of  hirs  may  hym  certeyn 
Withoute  sclaundre  yeven  ageyn, 

And  joyne  her  hertes  to-gidre  so 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


In  love,  and  take  and  yeve  also. 

Trowe  not  that  I wolde  hem  twynne 
Whanne  in  her  love  ther  is  no  synne; 

I wole  that  they  to-gedre  go, 

And  don  al  that  they  han  ado, 

As  curteis  shulde  and  debonaire, 

And  in  her  love  beren  hem  faire, 
Withoute  vice,  bothe  he  and  she, 

So  that  alwey  in  honeste 

Fro  foly  love  they  kepe  hem  clere, 

That  brenneth  hertis  with  his  fere, 

And  that  her  love  in  ony  wise 
Be  devoide  of  coveitise. 

Good  love  shulde  engendrid  be 
Of  trewe  herte,  just  and  secre, 

And  not  of  such  as  sette  her  thought 
To  have  her  lust,  and  ellis  nought. 

So  are  they  caught  in  loves  lace, 

Truly  for  bodily  solace. 

Fleshly  delite  is  so  present 
With  thee,  that  sette  all  thyne  entent, 
Withoute  more  (what  shulde  I glose  ?) 
Forto  gete  and  have  the  Rose, 

Which  makith  [thee]  somateandwoode. 
That  thou  desirest  noon  other  goode. 
But  thou  art  not  an  inche  the  nerre. 

But  evere  abidist  in  sorwe  and  werre, 
As  in  thi  face  it  is  sene; 

It  makith  thee  bothe  pale  and  lene  ; 
Thy  myght,  thi  vertu  goth  away. 

A sory  geste,  in  goode  fay. 

Thou  herberest  then  in  thyne  inne, 
TheGod  of  Love  whanne  thou  let  inne. 
Wherfore  I rede  thou  shette  hym  oute. 
Or  he  shall  greve  thee,  oute  of  doute; 
For  to  thi  profit  it  wole  turne. 

Iff  he  nomore  with  thee  sojourne. 

In  gret  myscheef  and  sorwe  sonken 
Ben  hertis  that  of  love  arn  dronken. 


As  thou  peraunter  knowen  shall 
Whanne  thou  hast  lost  thi  tvme  all. 
And  spent  thy  youth  in  ydilnesse 
In  waste  and  wofull  lustynesse. 

If  thow  maist  lyve  the  tyme  to  se 
Of  love  forto  delyvered  be, 

Thy  tyme  thou  shalt  biwepe  sore, 

The  whiche  never  thou  maist  restore. 
For  tyme  lost,  as  men  mav  see, 

For  no  thyng  may  recured  be. 

And  if  thou  scape  yit  atte  laste 
Fro  Love  that  hath  thee  so  faste 
Knytt  and  bounden  in  his  lace, 
Certeyn  I holde  it  but  a grace. 

For  many  oon,  as  it  is  seyne, 

Have  lost  and  spent  also  in  veyne 
In  his  servise,  withoute  socour, 

Body  and  soule,  good  and  tresour, 
Witte  and  strengthe  and  eke  richesse. 
Of  which  they  hadde  never  redresse.” 

Thus  taught  and  preched  hath  resoun. 
But  Love  spilte  hir  sermoun, 

That  was  so  ymped  in  mv  thought, 
That  hir  doctrine  I sette  at  nought. 
And  yitt  ne  seide  she  never  a dele 
That  I ne  undirstode  it  wele, 

Word  by  word  the  mater  all ; 

But  unto  love  I was  so  thrall, 

Which  callith  over-all  his  pray, 

He  chasith  so  my  thought  al  day. 

And  halt  myne  herte  undir  his  sele. 

As  trust  and  trew  as  ony  stele. 

So  that  no  devocioun 
Ne  hadde  I in  the  sermoun 
Of  dame  Resoun,  ne  of  hir  rede. 

It  toke  no  sojour  in  myne  hede, 

For  all  yede  oute  at  [that]  oon  ere. 
That  in  that  other  she  dide  lere ; 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Fully  on  me  she  lost  hir  lore. 

Hir  speche  me  greved  wondir  sore. 

Than  unto  hir  for  ire  I seide, 

For  anger  as  I dide  abraide : 

“Dame,  and  is  it  youre  wille  algate 
That  I not  love,  but  that  I hate 
Alle  men,  as  ye  me  teche  ? 

For  if  I do  aftir  youre  speche, 

Sith  that  ye  seyne  love  is  not  good, 
Thanne  must  I nedis  say  with  mood, 
If  I it  leve,  in  hatrede  ay 
To  lyven,  and  voide  love  away 
From  me,  [and  be]  a synfull  wrecche, 
Hated  of  all  that  [love  that]  tecche; 

I may  not  go  noon  other  gate, 

For  other  must  I love  or  hate. 

And  if  I hate  men  of  newe 
More  than  love,  it  wole  me  rewe, 

As  by  youre  preching  semeth  me, 

For  Love  no  thing  ne  preisith  thee. 

Ye  yeve  good  counsel  sikirly. 

That  prechith  me  al  day  that  I 
Shulde  not  loves  lore  alowe, 

He  were  a foole  wolde  you  not  trowe. 
In  speche  also  ye  han  me  taught 
Another  love  that  knowen  is  naught. 
Which  I have  herd  you  not  repreve. 
To  love  ech  other.  By  youre  leve, 

If  ye  wolde  diffyne  it  me, 

I wolde  gladly  here  to  se, 

Atte  the  leest,  if  I may  lere, 

Of  sondry  loves  the  manere.” 

Raisoun.  “Certis  freend  a fool  art 
thou 

Whan  that  thou  no  thyng  wolt  allowe, 
That  I for  thi  profit  say. 

Yit  wole  I sey  thee  more  in  fay. 

For  I am  redy  at  the  leste 


To  accomplisshe  thi  requeste. 

But  I not  where  it  wole  avayle. 

In  veyn  perauntre  I shal  travayle. 

Love  ther  is  in  sondry  wise, 

As  I shal  thee  heere  devise. 

For  somme  love  leful  is  and  good ; 

I mene  not  that  which  makith  thee  wood. 
And  bringith  thee  in  many  a fitte 
And  ravysshith  fro  thee  al  thi  witte, 

It  is  so  merveilouse  and  queynte ; 

With  such  love  be  no  more  aqueynte. 

Love  of  freendship  also  ther  is, 

Which  makith  no  man  done  amys, 

Of  wille  knytt  bitwixe  two. 

That  wole  not  breke  for  wele  ne  woo ; 
Which  long  is  likly  to  contune 
Whanne  wille  and  goodis  ben  in  comune; 
Grounded  by  goddis  ordinaunce, 

Hoole  withoute  discordaunce ; 

With  hem  holdyng  comunte 
Of  all  her  goode  in  charite ; 

That  ther  be  noon  excepcioun 
Thurgh  chaungyng  of  entencioun  ; 
That  ech  helpe  other  at  her  neede, 

And  wisely  hele  bothe  word  and  dede ; 
Trewe  of  menyng,  devoide  of  slouthe, 
For  witt  is  nought  withoute  trouthe, 

So  that  the  ton  dar  all  his  thought, 

Seyn  to  his  freend  and  spare  nought 
As  to  hym  silf,  withoute  dredyng 
To  be  discovered  by  wreying. 

For  glad  is  that  conjunccioun 
Whanne  ther  is  noon  susspecioun, 
[Nelakinhem]whomthey  woldeprove. 
That  trewe  and  parfit  weren  in  love. 
For  no  man  may  be  amyable, 

But  if  he  be  so  ferme  and  stable 
Thatfortunechaungehymnot,neblynde 
69 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


But  that  his  freend  all-wey  hym  fynde, 
Bothe  pore  and  riche,  in  oon  estate. 

For  if  his  freend,  thurgh  ony  gate, 

Wole  compleyne  of  his  poverte. 

He  shulde  not  bide  so  long  til  he 
Of  his  helpyng  hym  requere ; 

For  goode  dede  done  thurgh  praiere 
Is  sold  and  bought  to  deere,  I-wys, 

To  hert  that  of  grete  valour  is. 

For  hert  fulfilled  of  gentilnesse 
Can  yvel  demene  his  distresse. 

And  man,  that  worthy  is  of  name. 

To  asken  often  hath  gret  shame. 

A good  man  brenneth  in  his  thought 
For  shame,  whanne  he  axeth  ought. 

He  hath  gret  thought,  and  dredeth  ay 
For  his  disese,  whanne  he  shal  pray 
His  freend,  lest  that  he  warned  be, 

Til  that  he  preve  his  stabilte. 

But  whanne  that  he  hath  founden  oon, 
That  trusty  is  and  trewe  as  stone, 

And  [hath]  assaied  hym  at  alle, 

And  founde  hym  stedefast  as  a walle 
And  of  his  freendship  be  certeyne, 

He  shal  hym  shewe  bothe  joye  and  peyne 
And  all  that  [he]  dar  thynke  or  sey, 
Withoute  shame,  as  he  wel  may. 

For  how  shulde  he  a-shamed  be 
Of  sich  one  as  I tolde  thee? 

For  whanne  he  woot  his  secre  thought, 
The  thridde  shal  knowe  therof  right 
nought ; 

For  tweyne  of  noumbre  is  bet  thanthre 
In  every  counsell  and  secre. 

Repreve  he  dredeth  never  a deele 
Who  that  bisett  his  wordis  wele. 

For  every  wise  man,  out  of  drede. 

Can  kepe  his  tunge  till  he  se  nede; 

And  fooles  can  not  holde  her  tunge — 


‘A  fooles  belle  is  soone  runge.’ 

Yit  shal  a trewe  freend  do  more, 

To  helpe  hisfelowe  of  his  sore, 
Andsocoure  hym,  whannehe  hath  neede, 
In  all  that  he  may  done  in  deede ; 

And  gladder  [be]  that  he  hym  plesith, 
Than  his  felowe,  that  he  esith. 

And  if  he  do  not  his  requeste, 

He  shal  as  mochel  hym  moleste 
As  his  felow,  for  that  he 
May  not  fulfille  his  volunte 
Fully,  as  he  hath  requered. 

If  bothe  the  hertis  Love  hath  fered, 

Joy  and  woo  they  shull  departe 
And  take  evenly  ech  his  parte ; 

Half  his  anoy  he  shal  have  ay, 

And  comfort  [him]  what  that  he  mav  ; 
And  of  his  blisse  parte  shal  he, 

If  love  wel  departed  be. 

And  whilom  of  this  unyte 
Spake  Tulius  in  a ditee, 

Man  shulde  maken  his  requeste 
Unto  his  freend  that  is  honeste, 

And  he  goodly  shulde  it  fulfille. 

But  if  the  more  were  out  of  skile ; 

And  other  wise  not  graunte  therto, 
Except  oonly  in  causes  twoo; 

If  men  his  freend  to  deth  wolde  drive, 
Late  hym  be  bisy  to  save  his  lyve ; 

Also  if  men  wolen  hym  assayle 
Of  his  wurship  to  make  hym  fade, 

And  hyndren  hym  of  his  renoun; 

Late  hym,  with  full  entencioun, 

His  dever  done  in  eche  degre 
That  his  freend  ne  shamed  be, 

In  this  two  causes  with  his  mvght. 
Taking  no  kepe  to  skile  nor  right 
As  ferre  as  love  may  hym  excuse; 


70 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


This  ought  no  man  to  refuse. 

This  love,  that  I have  tolde  to  thee, 

Is  no  thing  contrarie  to  me ; 

This  wole  I that  thou  folowe  wele, 

And  leve  the  tother  every  dele ; 

This  love  to  vertu  all  entendith, 

The  tothir  fooles  blent  and  shendith. 

Another  love  also  there  is, 

That  is  contrarie  unto  this ; 

Which  desire  is  so  constreyned 
That  [it]  is  but  wille  feyned. 

Awey  fro  trouthe  it  doth  so  varie, 

That  to  good  love  it  is  contrarie, 

For  it  maymeth  in  many  wise 
Sike  herds  with  coveitise. 

All  in  wynnyng  and  in  profit 
Sich  love  settith  his  delite. 

This  love  so  hangeth  in  balaunce, 

That  if  it  lese  his  hope  perchaunce 
Of  lucre  that  he  is  sett  upon, 

It  wole  fade  and  quenche  anoon. 

For  no  man  may  be  amerous, 

Ne  in  his  lyvyng  vertuous. 

But  he  love  more  in  moode 
Men  for  him-silf  than  for  her  goode. 

For  love  that  profit  doth  abide 
Is  fals,  and  bit  not  in  no  tyde 
[This]  love  cometh  of  Dame  Fortune, 
That  litel  while  wole  contune ; 

For  it  shal  chaungen  wonder  soone. 

And  take  Eclips ; right  as  the  moone 
Whanne  he  is  from  us  lett 
Thurgh  erthe,  that  bitwixe  is  sett 
The  sonne  and  hir,  as  it  may  falle, 

Be  it  in  partie  or  in  all. 

The  shadowe  makethherbemysmerke. 
And  hir  homes  to  shewe  derke 
That  part  where  she  hath  lost  hir  lyght 

7i 


Of  Phebus  fully,  and  the  sight; 

Til,  whanne  the  shadowe  is  overpaste. 
She  is  enlumyned  ageyn  as  faste 
Thurgh  the  brightnesse  of  the  sonne 
bemes, 

That  yeveth  to  hir  ageyne  hir  lemes. 
That  love  is  right  of  sich  nature, 

Now  is  faire,  and  now  obscure, 

Now  bright,  now  clipsi  of  manere, 
Andwhilom  dymme,andwhilom  clere. 
As  soone  as  poverte  gynneth  take, 
With  mantel  and  [with]  wedis  blake 
Hidith  of  love  the  light  awey, 

That  into  nyght  it  turneth  day ; 

It  may  not  see  richesse  shyne, 

Till  the  blake  shadowes  fyne. 

For  whanne  richesse  shyneth  bright 
Love  recovereth  ageyn  his  light, 

And  whanne  it  failith,  he  wole  flit ; 
And  as  she  groweth,  so  groweth  it. 

Of  this  love  here  what  I sey : 

The  riche  men  are  loved  ay, 

And  namely  tho  that  sparand  bene, 
That  wole  not  wasshe  her  hertes  clene 
Of  the  filthe,  nor  of  the  vice 
Of  gredy  brennyng  avarice. 

The  riche  man  full  fonned  is  y-wys, 
That  weneth  that  he  loved  is; 

If  that  his  herte  it  undirstode, 

It  is  not  he,  it  is  his  goode ; 

He  may  wel  witen  in  his  thought 
His  good  is  loved  and  he  right  nought. 
For  if  he  be  a nygard  eke, 

Men  wole  not  sette  by  hym  a leke. 

But  haten  hym,  this  is  the  sothe. 

Lo,  what  profit  his  catell  doth  ? 

Of  every  man  that  may  hym  see, 

It  geteth  hym  nought  but  enmyte. 

But  he  amende  hym  of  that  vice. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  knowe  hym  silf,  he  is  not  wys. 
Certys  he  shulde  ay  freendly  be, 

To  gete  hym  love  also  ben  free, 

Or  ellis  he  is  not  wise  ne  sage, 

Nomore  than  is  a gote  ramage. 

That  he  not  loveth  his  dede  proveth, 
Whan  he  his  richesse  so  wel  loveth 
That  he  wole  hide  it  ay  and  spare, 

His  pore  freendis  sene  forfare 
To  kepen  alway  his  purpose. 

Til  for  drede  his  yen  close. 

And  til  a wikked  deth  hym  take. 

Hym  hadde  lever  a-sondre  shake 
And  late  hise  lymes  a-sondre  ryve, 
Than  leve  his  richesse  in  his  lyve ; 

He  thenkith  parte  it  with  no  man. 
Certayn  no  love  is  in  hym  than  ; 

How  shulde  love  withynne  hym  be, 
Whanne  in  his  herte  is  no  pite? 

That  he  trespasseth  wel  I wat, 

For  ech  man  knowith  his  estate. 

For  wel  hym  ought  to  be  reproved 
That  loveth  nought,  ne  is  not  loved. 
But  sen  we  arn  to  fortune  comen, 

And  hath  oure  sermoun  of  hir  nomen, 
A wondir  will  y telle  thee  nowe ; 
Thou  herdist  never  sich  oon  I trowe. 

I note  where  thou  me  leven  shall, 
Though  sothfastnesse  it  be  at  all. 

As  it  is  writen  and  is  soth, 

That  unto  men  more  profit  doth 
The  froward  fortune  and  contraire, 
Than  the  swote  and  debonaire; 

And  if  thee  thynke  it  is  doutable 
It  is  thurgh  argument  provable; 

For  the  debonaire  and  softe 
Falsith  and  bigilith  ofte. 

For  lyche  a moder  she  can  cherishe, 


And  mylken  [hem]  as  doth  a norys ; 
And  of  hir  goode  to  hem  deles, 

And  yeveth  hem  parte  of  her  joweles, 
With  grete  richesse  and  dignite; 

And  hem  she  hoteth  stabilite 
In  a state  that  is  not  stable, 

But  chaungynge  ay  and  variable ; 

And  fedith  hym  with  glorie  veyne, 

In  worldly  blisse  noncerteyne. 

Whanne  she  hem  settith  on  hir  whele 
Thanne  wene  they  to  be  right  wele, 
And  in  so  stable  state  withall 
That  never  they  wene  forto  falle. 

And  whanne  they  sette  so  highe  be, 
They  wene  to  have  in  certeynte 
Of  hertly  freendis  so  grete  noumbre 
That  no  thyngmyght  her  state  encombre. 
They  trust  hem  so  on  every  side, 
Wenyng  with  hem  they  wolde  abide 
In  every  perell  and  myschaunce, 
Withoute  chaunge  or  variaunce 
Bothe  of  catell  and  of  goode. 

And  also  forto  spende  her  bloode, 

And  all  her  membris  forto  spille, 

Oonly  to  fulfille  her  wille. 

They  maken  it  hole  in  many  wise, 

And  hoten  hem  her  full  servise. 

How  sore  that  it  do  hem  smerte, 

Into  her  naked  sherte. 

Herte  and  all  so  hole  they  yive. 

For  the  tyme  that  they  may  lyve. 

So  that  with  her  flaterie, 

They  maken  foolis  glorifie 
Of  her  wordis  spekyng, 

And  han  ther-of  a rejoysyng, 

And  trowe  hem  as  the  Evangile: 

And  it  is  all  falsheede  and  gile. 

As  they  shal  aftirwarde  se 
Whanne  they  arn  Falle  in  poverte, 

72 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  ben  of  good  and  catell  bare ; 
Thanne  shulde  they  sene  who  freendis 
ware. 

For  of  an  hundred  certeynly, 

Nor  of  a thousande  full  scarsly, 

Ne  shal  they  fynde  unnethis  oon 
Whanne  poverte  is  comen  upon. 

For  this  Fortune  that  I of  telle 
With  men  whanne  hir  lust  to  dwelle, 
Makith  hem  to  leese  her  conisaunce. 
And  norishith  hem  in  ignoraunce. 

But  froward  Fortune  and  perverse, 
Whanne  high  estatis  she  doth  reverse, 
And  maketh  hem  to  tumble  doune 
Of  hir  whele,  with  sodeyn  tourne, 

And  from  her  richesse  doth  hem  fie, 
And  plongeth  hem  in  poverte, 

As  a stepmoder  envyous 
And  leieth  a piastre  dolorous 
Unto  her  hertis  wounded  egre, 

Which  is  not  tempred  with  vynegre 
But  with  poverte  and  indigence — 
Forto  shewe  by  experience 
That  she  is  Fortune  verelye, 

In  whom  no  man  shulde  affye, 

Nor  in  hir  yeftis  have  fiaunce. 

She  is  so  full  of  variaunce. 

Thus  kan  she  maken  high  and  lowe, 
Whanne  they  from  richesse  arn  [y-] 
throwe, 

Fully  to  knowen  without  were 
Freend  of  affect  and  freend  of  chere ; 
And  which  inlove  weretreweand  stable, 
And  whiche  also  were  variable. 

After  Fortune  her  goddesse. 

In  poverte  outher  in  richesse. 

For  all  she  yeveth  here,  out  of  drede, 
Unhappe  bereveth  it  in  dede ; 


For  in-fortune  late  not  oon 
Of  freendis,  whanne  Fortune  is  gone — 

I mene  tho  freendis  that  wole  fie 
Arioon,  as  entreth  poverte ; 

And  yit  they  wole  not  leve  hem  so. 

But  in  ech  place  where  they  go, 

They  calle  hem  ‘wrecche,’  scorne,  and 
blame, 

And  of  her  myshappe  hem  diffame. 

And  namely  siche  as  in  richesse 
Pretendid  moost  of  stablenesse, 

Whanne  that  they  sawehymsetteonlofte, 
And  were  of  hym  socoured  ofte, 

And  most  yholpe  in  all  her  neede ; 

But  now  they  take  no  maner  heede. 

But  seyn  in  voice  of  flaterie, 

That  now  apperith  her  folye 
Over-all  where  so  they  fare, 

And  synge  ‘Go  fare-wel,  feldefare.’ 

All  suche  freendis  I beshrewe. 

For  of  trewe  ther  be  to  fewe. 

But  sothfast  freendis,  what  so  bitide, 

In  every  fortune  wolen  abide  ; 

Thei  han  her  hertis  in  suche  noblesse 
That  they  nyl  love  for  no  richesse, 

Nor  for  that  fortune  may  hem  sende 
Thei  wolen  hem  socoure  and  defende, 
And  chaunge  for  softe  ne  for  sore ; 

For  who  is  freend  loveth  evermore. 
Though  men  drawe  swerde  his  freend  to 
slo, 

He  may  not  hewe  her  love  a-two, 

But  in  case  that  I shall  sey ; 

For  pride  and  ire  lese  it  he  may. 

And  for  reprove  by  nycete, 

And  discovering  of  privite; 

With  tonge  woundyng  as  feloun, 
Thurgh  venemous  detraccioun. 

Frende  in  this  case  wole  gone  his  way, 

73  K 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


For  no  thyng  greve  hym  more  ne  may, 
And  for  nought  ellis  wole  he  fle, 

If  that  he  love  in  stabilite. 

And  certeyn  he  is  wel  bigone, 

Among  a thousand  that  fyndith  oon  ; 

For  ther  may  be  no  richesse 
Ageyns  frendshipp  of  worthynesse ; 

For  it  ne  may  so  high  atteigne 
As  may  the  valoure,  soth  to  seyne. 

Of  hym  that  loveth  trew  and  well. 
Frendshipp  is  more  than  is  catell, 

For  freend  in  court  ay  better  is, 

Than  peny  in  purs  certis. 

And  Fortune  myshappyng, 

Whanne  upon  men  she  is  fallyng 
Thurgh  mysturnyng  of  hir  chaunce. 

And  casteth  hem  oute  of  balaunce, 

She  makith  thurgh  hir  adversite 
Men  full  clerly  forto  se 
Hym  that  is  freend  in  existence, 

From  hym  that  is  by  apparence. 

For  yn-fortune  makith  anoon, 

To  knowe  thy  freendis  fro  thy  foon, 

By  experience  right  as  it  is. 

The  which  is  more  to  preise  y-wis, 

Than  is  myche  richesse  and  tresour. 

For  more  dothe  profit  and  valour 
Poverte  and  such  adversite 
Bi  fer  than  doth  prosperite; 

For  the  toon  yeveth  conysaunce, 

And  the  tother  ignoraunce. 

And  thus  in  poverte  is  in  dede 
Trouthe  declared  fro  falsheed, 

For  feynte  frendis  it  wole  declare, 

And  trewe  also  what  wey  they  fare. 

For  whanne  he  was  in  his  richesse, 

These  freendis  ful  of  doublenesse 
Offrid  hym  in  many  wise 

74 


Hert,  and  body,  and  servise; 

What  wolde  he  thanne  ha  yove  to  ha 
bought 

To  knowen  openly  her  thought, 

That  he  now  hath  so  clerly  seen  ? 

The  lasse  bigiled  he  shulde  have  bene. 
And  he  hadde  thanne  perceyved  it  ; 
But  richesse  nold  not  late  hym  witte. 
Wel  more  avauntage  doth  hymthanne, 
Sith  that  it  makith  hym  a wise  man, 
The  gret  myscheef  that  he  receyveth. 
Than  doth  richesse  that  hym  deceyveth. 
Richesse  riche  ne  makith  nought 
Hym  that  on  tresour  sette  his  thought. 
For  richesse  stonte  in  suffisaunce 
And  no-thyng  in  habundaunce  ; 

For  suffisaunce  all  oonly 
Makith  men  to  lyve  richely. 

For  he  that  at  mycches  tweyne, 

Ne  valued  [is]  in  his  demeine, 

Lyveth  more  at  ese,  and  more  is  riche. 
Than  doth  he  that  is  chiche, 

And  in  his  berne  hath,  soth  to  seyn, 
An  hundred  mowis  of  whete  greyne, 
Though  he  be  chapman  or  marchaunte. 
And  have  of  golde  many  [a]  besaunte. 
For  in  the  getyng  he  hath  such  woo, 
And  in  the  kepyng  drede  also, 

And  sette  evermore  his  bisynesse 
Forto  encrese,  and  not  to  lesse, 

Forto  aument  and  multiplie. 

And  though  on  hepis  that  lye  hym  bye 
Yit  never  shal  make  his  richesse 
Asseth  unto  his  gredynesse. 

But  the  povere  that  recchith  nought. 
Save  of  his  lyflode,  in  his  thought, 
Which  that  he  getith  with  his  travaile. 
He  dredith  nought  that  it  shall  fade. 
Though  he  have  ly tel  worldis  goode, 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Mete,  and  drynke,  and  esy  foode. 

Upon  his  travel  and  lyvyng, 

And  also  suffisaunt  clothyng. 

Or  if  in  syknesse  that  he  fall, 

And  lothe  mete  and  drynke  withall, 
Though  he  have  not  his  mete  to  bye 
He  shal  bithynke  hym  hastily 
To  putte  hym  oute  of  all  daunger. 

That  he  of  mete  hath  no  myster; 

Or  that  he  may  with  lytel  eke 
Be  founden,  while  that  he  is  seke ; 

Or  that  men  shull  hym  berne  in  haste, 
To  lyve  til  his  syknesse  be  paste, 

To  somme  maysondewe  biside  ; 

Or  he  caste  nought  what  shal  hym 
bitide — 

He  thenkith  nought  that  evere  he  shall 
Into  ony  sykenesse  fall. 

And  though  it  falle,  as  it  may  be, 

That  all  be-tyme  spare  shall  he 
As  mochel,  as  shal  to  hym  suffice 
While  he  is  sike  in  ony  wise, 

He  doth  [that]  for  that  he  wole  be 
Contente  with  his  poverte, 

Withoute  nede  of  ony  man. 

So  myche  in  litel  have  he  can, 

He  is  apaied  with  his  fortune  ; 

And  for  he  nyl  be  importune 
Unto  no  wight,  ne  honerous, 

Nor  of  her  goodes  coveitous, 

Therfore  he  spareth,  it  may  wel  bene, 
His  pore  estate  forto  sustene. 

Or  if  hym  lust  not  forto  spare, 

But  suffrith  forth  as  not  ne  ware, 

Atte  last  it  hapneth  as  it  may 
Right  unto  his  laste  day, 

And  taketh  the  world  as  it  wolde  be; 

For  evere  in  herte  thenkith  he. 

The  sonner  that  [the]  deth  hym  slo, 

75 


To  paradys  the  sonner  go 
He  shal,  there  forto  lyve  in  blisse, 
Where  that  he  shalnoo  good  misse; 
Thider  he  hopith  God  shal  hym  sende, 
Aftir  his  wrecchid  lyves  ende. 
Pictagoras  hym  silf  reherses 
In  a book,  that  the  Golden  Verses 
Is  clepid  for  the  nobilite 
Of  the  honourable  ditee, 

That  whanne  thou  goste  thy  body  fro, 
Fre  in  the  eir  thou  shalt  up  go, 

And  leven  al  humanite. 

And  purely  lyve  in  deite. 

He  is  a foole  withouten  were 
That  trowith  have  his  Countre  heere  ; 
In  erthe  is  not  oure  Countre — 

That  may  these  clerkis  seyn,  and  see 
In  Boice  of  Consolacioun, 

Where  it  is  maked  mencioun 
Of  oure  countre  pleyn  at  the  ye 
By  teching  of  Philosophic ; 

Where  lewid  men  myght  lere  witte. 
Who  so  that  wolde  translaten  it. 

If  he  be  sich  that  can  wel  lyve 
Aftir  his  rente  may  hym  yive, 

And  not  desireth  more  to  have. 

Than  may  fro  poverte  hym  save. 

A wise  man  seide,  as  we  may  seen, 

Is  no  man  wrecche  but  he  it  wene. 

Be  he  kyng,  knyght,  or  ribaude; 

And  many  a ribaude  is  mery  and  baude 
That  swynkith  and  berith  bothe  day 
and  nyght 

Many  a burthen  of  gret  myght, 

The  whiche  doth  hym  lasse  offense 
For  he  suffrith  in  pacience. 

They  laugh  anddaunce,  trippeand  synge, 
And  ley  not  up  for  her  lyvyng. 

But  in  the  taverne  all  dispendith 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


The  wynnyng  that  God  hem  sendith. 
Thanne  goth  he  fardeles  forto  here, 
With  as  good  chere  as  he  dide  ere; 

To  swynke  and  traveile  he  not  feynith, 
For  for  to  robben  he  disdeynith  ; 

But  right  anoon  aftir  his  swynke 
He  goth  to  taverne  forto  drynke. 

All  these  ar  riche  in  abundaunce, 

That  can  thus  have  suffisaunce 
Wei  more  than  can  an  usurere, 

As  God  wel  knowith,  withoute  were. 
For  an  usurer,  so  God  me  se, 

Shal  nevere  for  richesse  riche  be, 

But  evermore  pore  and  indigent. 

Scarce  and  gredy  in  his  entent. 

For  soth  it  is,  whom  it  displese, 

Ther  may  no  marchaunt  lyve  at  ese. 

His  herte  in  sich  a werre  is  sett, 

That  it  quyk  brenneth  more  to  gete, 

Ne  never  shal  enough  have  geten, 
Though  he  have  gold  in  gerners  yeten. 
Forto  be  nedy  he  dredith  sore, 

Wherfore  to  geten  more  and  more 
He  sette  his  herte  and  his  desire. 

So  hote  he  brennyth  in  the  fire, 

Of  coveitise,  that  makith  hym  woode 
To  purchace  other  mennes  goode. 

He  undirfongith  a gret  peyne 
That  undirtakith  to  drynke  up  Seyne; 
For  the  more  he  drynkith  ay 
The  more  he  leveth,  the  soth  to  say. 
Thus  is  thurst  of  fals  getyng, 

That  laste  ever  in  coveityng. 

And  the  angwisshe  and  distresse, 

With  the  fire  of  gredy  nesse. 

She  fightith  with  hym  ay  and  stryveth, 
That  his  herte  a-sondre  ryveth  ; 

Such  gredynesse  hym  assaylith, 

76 


Thatwhannehemosthath,mosthefailith. 
Phisiciens  and  advocates 
Gone  right  by  the  same  yates ; 

They  selle  her  science  for  wynnyng. 

And  haunte  her  crafte  for  gret  getyng. 
Her  wynnyng  is  of  such  swetnesse, 

That  if  a man  falle  in  sikenesse, 

They  are  full  glad  for  ther  encrese ; 

For  by  her  wille,  withoute  lees, 

Everiche  man  shulde  be  seke, 

And  though  they  die,  they  sette  not  a leke. 
After,  whanne  they  the  gold  have  take. 
Full  litel  care  for  hem  they  make ; 

They  wolde  that  fourty  were  seke 
atonys — 

Ye  ii  hundred  in  flesh  and  bonys, 

And  yit  ii  thousand,  as  I gesse, 

Forto  encrecen  her  richesse. 

They  wole  not  worchen  in  no  wise. 

But  for  lucre  and  coveitise. 

For  Fysic  gynneth  first  by  ‘ Fy  * 

(The  Phisicien  also  sothely)  ; 

And  sithen  it  goth  fro  ‘Fy’  to  ‘Sy,’ 

To  truste  on  hem  [it]  is  foly, 

For  they  nyl,  in  no  maner  gre. 

Do  right  nought  for  charite. 

Eke  in  the  same  secte  ar  sette 
All  tho  that  prechen  forto  gete 
Worshipes,  honour,  and  richesse. 

Her  hertis  arn  in  grete  distresse, 

That  folk  [ne]  lyve  not  holily. 

But  aboven  all  specialy 

Sich  as  prechen  [in]  veynglorie. 

And  toward  god  have  no  memorie. 

But  forth  as  ypocrites  trace. 

And  to  her  soules  deth  purchace 
An  outward  shewing  holynesse. 

Though  they  be  full  of  cursidnesse. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Not  liche  to  the  apostles  twelve. 

They  deceyve  other  and  hem  selve  ; 
Bigiled  is  the  giler  thanne, 

For  prechyng  of  a cursed  man 
Though  [it]  to  other  may  profite, 
Hymsilf  it  vaileth  not  a myte. 

For  ofte  goode  predicacioun 
Cometh  of  evel  entencioun. 

To  hym  not  vailith  his  preching, 

All  helpe  he  other  with  his  teching. 

For  where  they  good  ensaumple  take, 
There  is  he  with  veynglorie  shake. 

But  late  us  leven  these  prechoures, 

And  speke  of  hem  that  in  her  toures 
Hepe  up  her  gold,  and  faste  shette, 

And  sore  theron  her  herte  sette. 

They  neither  love  God  ne  drede, 

They  kepe  more  than  it  is  nede, 

And  in  her  bagges  sore  it  bynde ; 

Out  of  the  sonne,  and  of  the  wynde, 
They  putte  up  more  than  nede  ware. 
Whanne  they  seen  pore  folk  forfare. 

For  hunger  die,  and  for  cold  quake, 

God  can  wel  vengeaunce  therof  take. 
Thre  gret  myscheves  hem  assailith, 

And  thus  in  gadring  ay  travaylith: 

With  mychelpeyne  they  wynne  richesse, 
And  drede  hem  holdith  in  distresse 
To  kepe  that  they  gadre  faste, 

With  sorwe  they  leve  it  at  the  laste  ; 
With  sorwe  they  bothe  dye  and  lyve 
That  unto  richesse  her  hertis  yive. 

And  in  defaute  of  love  it  is, 

As  it  shewith  ful  wel  I-wys ; 

For  if  this  gredy,  the  sothe  to  seyn, 
Loveden  and  were  loved  ageyn, 

And  goode  Love  regned  over-all, 

Such  wikkidnesse  ne  shulde  fall. 

But  he  shuldeyeve,  that  most  good  hadde, 

77 


To  hem  that  weren  in  nede  bistadde ; 
And  lyve  withoute  false  usure. 

For  charite,  full  clene  and  pure. 

If  they  hem  yeve  to  goodnesse, 
Defendyng  hem  from  ydelnesse, 

In  all  this  world  thanne  pover  noon 
We  shulde  fynde,  I trowe  not  oon. 

But  chaunged  is  this  world  unstable, 
For  love  is  over-all  vendable ; 

We  se  that  no  man  loveth  nowe. 

But  for  wynnyng  and  for  prowe. 

And  love  is  thralled  in  servage, 
Whanne  it  is  sold  for  avauntage; 

Yit  wommen  wole  her  bodyes  selle — 
Suche  soules  goth  to  the  devel  of  helle. 

Whanne  Love  hadde  toldhemhisentent. 
The  baronage  to  councel  went ; 

In  many  sentences  they  fille, 

And  dyversly  they  seide  hir  wille. 

But  aftir  discorde  they  accorded. 

And  her  accord  to  Love  recorded : 

“ Sir,”  seiden  they,  “ we  ben  atone 
Bi  evene  accorde  of  everichone, 

Outake  Richesse  al  oonly, 

That  sworne  hath  ful  hauteynly, 

That  she  the  castell  nyl  not  assaile, 

Ne  smyte  a stroke  in  this  bataile 
With  darte  ne  mace,  spere  ne  knyf, 

For  man  that  spekith  or  berith  the  lyf, 
And  blameth  youre  emprise,  I-wys, 
And  from  oure  hoost  departed  is, 

Atte  lest  wey  as  in  this  plyte. 

So  hath  she  this  man  in  dispite. 

For,  she  seith,  he  ne  loved  hir  never, 
And  therfore  she  wole  hate  hym  evere. 
For  he  wole  gadre  no  tresoure, 

He  hath  hir  wrath  for  evermore  ; 

He  agylte  hir  never  in  other  caas, 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Lo,  heere  all  hoolly  his  trespas. 

She  seith  wel  that  this  other  day 
He  axide  hir  leve  to  gone  the  way 
That  is  clepid  ‘To-moche-yevyng,’ 
And  spak  full  faire  in  his  praiyng. 

But  whanne  he  praide  hir,  pore  was  he, 
Therfore  she  warned  hym  the  entre; 
Ne  yit  is  he  not  thryven  so 
That  he  hath  geten  a peny  or  two, 
That  quytly  is  his  owne,  in  holde. 
Thus  hath  Richesse  us  all[e]  tolde; 
And  whanne  Richesse  us  this  recorded, 
Withouten  hir  we  ben  accorded. 

And  we  fynde  in  oure  accordaunce 
That  False-Semblant  and  Abstinaunce, 
With  all  the  folk  of  her  bataille, 

Shull  at  the  hyndre  gate  assayle, 

That  Wikkid-Tunge  hath  in  kepyng 
With  his  Normans  full  of  janglyng; 
And  with  hem  Curtesie  and  Largesse, 
That  shull  shewe  her  hardynesse 
To  the  olde  wyf,  that  kepte  so  harde 
Fair-Welcomyng  withynne  herwarde ; 
Thanneshal  Delite  and  Wel-Heelynge 
Fonde  Shame  adowne  to  brynge, 

With  all  her  oost  early  and  late 
They  shull  assailen  that  ilke  gate; 
Agaynes  Drede  shall  Hardynesse 
Assayle,  and  also  Sikernesse 
With  all  the  folk  of  her  ledyng, 

That  never  wist  what  was  fleyng  ; 
Fraunchise  shall  fight  and  eke  Pite 
With  Daunger,  full  of  Cruelte  ; 

Thus  is  youre  hoost  ordeyned  wele. 
Doune  shall  the  castell  every-dele. 

If  everiche  do  his  entent. 

So  that  Venus  be  present, 

Youre  modir  full  of  vesselage 
That  can  ynough  of  such  usage. 


Withouten  hir  may  no  wight  spede 
This  werk,  neithir  for  word  ne  deede  ; 
Therfore  is  good  ye  for  hir  sende, 

For  thurgh  hir  may  this  werk  amende.” 

“Lordynges,  my  modir,  the  goddesse. 
That  is  my  lady  and  my  maistresse, 

Nis  not  [at]  all  at  my  willyng, 

Ne  doth  not  all  my  desiryng ; 

Yit  can  she  some  tyme  done  labour, 
Whanne  that  hir  lust,  in  my  socour. 

As  my  nede  is  forto  a-cheve. 

But  now  I thenke  hir  not  to  geve ; 

My  modir  is  she,  and  of  childehede, 

I bothe  worshipe  hir  and  drede. 

For  who  that  dredith  sire  ne  dame, 
Shal  it  abye  in  body  or  name. 

And  netheles  yit  kunne  we 
Sende  aftir  hir  if  nede  be  ; 

And  were  she  nygh  she  comen  wolde, 

I trowe  that  no  thyng  myght  hir  holde. 
Mi  modir  is  of  gret  prowesse, 

She  hath  tan  many  a forteresse. 

That  cost  hath  many  a pounde,  er  this. 
There  I nas  not  present  y-wis ; 

And  yit  men  seide  it  was  my  dede. 

But  I come  never  in  that  stede, 

Ne  me  ne  likith,  so  mote  I the, 

That  suchetouresben  take  withoute  me. 
For  why  me  thenkith  that  in  no  wise 
It  may  bene  clepid  but  marchandise. 
Go  bye  a courser,  blak  or  white. 

And  pay  therfore,  than  art  thou  quyte ; 
The  marchauntowith  thee  right  nought, 
Ne  thou  hym,  whanne  thou  it  bought, 

I wole  not  sellyng  clepe  ‘yevyng,’ 

For  sellyng  axeth  no  guerdonyng. 

Here  lith  no  thank  ne  no  merite; 

That  oon  goth  from  that  other  al  quyte. 
7S 


. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


But  this  sellyng  is  not  semblable ; 

For  whanne  his  hors  is  in  the  stable. 

He  may  it  selle  ageyn,  parde. 

And  wynnen  on  it, such  happe  may  be ; 
All  may  the  man  not  leese  I-wys, 

For  at  the  leest  the  skynne  is  his. 

Or  ellis  if  it  so  bitide 
That  he  wole  kepe  his  hors  to  ride, 

Yit  is  he  lord  ay  of  his  hors. 

But  thilke  chaffare  is  wel  wors, 

There  Venus  entremetith  ought. 

For  who-so  such  chaffare  hath  bought, 
He  shal  not  worchen  so  wisely, 

That  he  ne  shal  leese  al  outerly 
Bothe  his  money  and  his  chaffare. 

But  the  seller  of  the  ware 
The  prys  and  profit  have  shall, 

Certeyn  the  bier  shal  leese  all. 

For  he  ne  can  so  dere  it  bye 
To  have  lordship  and  full  maistrie, 

Ne  have  power  to  make  lettyng 
Neithir  for  yift  ne  for  prechyng, 

That  of  his  chaffare,  maugre  his, 
Another  shal  have  asmoche,  I-wis, 

If  he  wole  yeve  as  myche  as  he, 

Of  what  contrey  so  that  he  be ; 

Or  for  right  nought,  so  happe  may, 

If  he  can  flater  hir  to  hir  pay. 

Ben  thanne  siche  marchauntz  wise? 

No  but  fooles  in  every  wise, 

Whanne  they  bye  sich  thyng  wilfully 
There  as  they  leese  her  good  fully. 

But  natheles  this  dar  I say, 

My  modir  is  not  wont  to  pay, 

For  she  is  neither  so  fool  ne  nyce 
To  entremete  hir  of  sich  vyce. 

But  trusteth  wel  he  shal  pay  all, 

That  repent  of  his  bargeyn  shall, 
Whanne  poverte  puttehym  in  distresse, 

79 


All  were  he  scoler  to  Richesse, 

That  is  for  me  in  gret  yernyng 
Whanne  she  assentith  to  my  willyng. 
But  [by]  my  modir  seint  Venus, 

And  by  hir  fader  Saturnus, 

That  hir  engendride  by  his  lyf 
(But  not  upon  his  weddid  wyf) — 

Yit  wole  I more  unto  you  swere 
To  make  this  thyng  the  sikerere : — 
Now  by  that  feith  and  that  leaute 
That  I owe  to  all  my  britheren  fre. 

Of  which  ther  nys  wight  undir  heven 
That  kan  her  fadris  names  neven. 

So  dyverse  and  so  many  ther  be, 

That  with  my  modir  have  be  prive ; 
Yit  wolde  I swere  for  sikirnesse, 

The  pole  of  helle  to  my  witnesse, 

Now  drynke  I not  this  yeere  clarre. 

If  that  I lye  or  forsworne  be  ! 

(For  of  the  goddes  the  usage  is, 

That  who  so  hym  forswereth  amys 
Shal  that  yeer  drynke  no  clarre.) 

Now  have  I sworne  ynough  pardee, 

If  I forswere  me,  thanne  am  I lorne — 
But  I wole  never  be  forsworne. 

Syth  Richesse  hath  me  failed  heere, 
She  shal  abye  that  trespas  dere, 

Atte  leest  wey  but  hir  arme 
With  swerd,  or  sparth  or  [wi  th]  gy  sarme. 
For  certis  sith  she  loveth  not  me 
Fro  thilke  tyme  that  she  may  se 
The  castell  and  the  tour  to-shake, 

In  sory  tyme  she  shal  awake. 

If  I may  grype  a riche  man, 

I shal  so  pulle  hym,  if  I can, 

That  he  shal  in  a fewe  stoundes 
Lese  all  his  markis  and  his  poundis; 

I shal  hym  make  his  pens  outslynge. 
But  they  in  his  gerner  sprynge. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Oure  maydens  shal  eke  pluk  hym  so, 
That  hym  shal  neden  fetheres  mo, 

And  makehym  sellehis  londeto  spende, 
But  he  the  bet  kunne  hym  defende. 
Pore  men  han  maad  her  lord  of  me ; 

A1  though  they  not  so  myghty  be 
That  they  may  fede  me  in  delite, 

I wole  not  have  hem  in  despite; 

No  good  man  hateth  hem  as  I gesse. 
For  chynche  and  feloun  is  richesse ; 
That  so  can  chase  hym  and  dispise. 
And  hem  defoule  in  sondry  wise. 

They  loven  full  bet,  so  God  me  spede, 
Than  doth  the  riche  chynchy  gnede  ; 
And  ben  in  goode  feith  more  stable, 
And  trewer  and  more  serviable. 

And  therfore  it  suffisith  me 
Her  goode  herte  and  her  leaute. 

They  han  on  me  sette  all  her  thought, 
And  therfore  I forgete  hem  nought; 

I wolde  hem  bringe  in  grete  noblesse, 
If  that  I were  god  of  richesse, 

As  I am  god  of  love  sothely, 

Sich  routhe  upon  her  pleynt  have  I. 
Therfore  I must  his  socour  be 
That  peyneth  hym  to  serven  me, 

For  if  he  deide  for  love  of  this, 

Thanne  semeth  in  me  no  love  ther  is.” 

“Sir,”  seide  they,  “soth  is  every  deel 
That  ye  reherce,  and  we  wote  wel 
Thilke  oth  to  holde  is  resonable. 

For  it  is  good  and  covenable 
That  ye  on  riche  men  han  sworne; 

For,  Sir,  this  wote  we  wel  biforne : 

If  Riche  men  done  you  homage, 

That  is,  as  fooles  done,  outrage. 

But  ye  shull  not  forsworen  be, 

Ne  lette,  therfore,  to  drynke  clarre 


Or  pyment  makid  fresh  and  newe. 
Ladies  shull  hem  such  pepir  brewe, 

If  that  they  fall  into  her  laas, 

That  they  for  woo  mowe  seyn,  ‘Allas ! 
Ladyes  shullen  evere  so  curteis  be, 
That  they  shal  quyte  youre  oth  all  free. 
Ne  sekith  never  othir  vicaire, 

For  they  shal  speke  with  hem  so  faire. 
That  ye  shal  holde  you  paied  full  wele. 
Though  ye  you  medle  never  a dele. 
Late  ladies  worche  with  her  thvngis 
They  shal  hem  telle  so  fele  tidynges, 
And  moeve  hem  eke  so  many  requestis, 
Bi  flateri,  that  not  honest  is; 

And  therto  yeve  hvm  such  thankvnges. 
What  with  kissyng,  and  with  talkynges. 
That  certis,  if  they  trowed  be, 

Shal  never  leve  hem  londe  ne  tee. 

That  it  nyl  as  the  moeble  fare 
Of  which  they  first  delyverid  are. 

Now  may  ye  telle  us  all  youre  wille. 
And  we  youre  heestes  shal  fulfille. 

But  Fals-Semblaunt  dar  not  for  drede 
Of  you,  Sir,  medle  hym  of  this  dede  ; 
For  he  seith  that  ye  ben  his  foo, 

He  note  if  ye  wole  worche  hym  woo. 
Wherfore  we  pray  you  alle,  Beausire, 
That  ye  forgyve  hym  now  your  Ire, 
And  that  he  may  dwelle  as  your  man 
With  Abstinence,  his  dere  lemman. 
This  oure  accord  and  oure  wille  nowc.” 
“Parfay,”  seide  Love,  “I  graunte  it 
yowe ; 

I wole  wel  holde  hvm  for  my  man, 
Nowlatehymcome.”  Andheforth ran. 
“Fals-Semblant,”  quod  Love,  “in  this 
wise 

I take  thee  heere  to  my  servise. 


■ 

' 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  thou  oure  freendis  helpe  away, 
Andhyndrethhemneithirnyghtneday, 
But  do  thy  myght  hem  to  releve ; 

And  eke  oure  enemyes  that  thou  greve ; 
Thyne  be  this  myght, I graunte  it  thee, 
My  Kyng  of  Harlotes  shalt  thou  be, 
We  wole  that  thou  have  such  honour. 
Certeyne  thou  art  a fals  traitour, 

And  eke  a theef ; sith  thou  were  borne, 
A thousand  tyme  thou  art  forsworne ; 
But  netheles  in  oure  heryng, 

To  putte  oure  folk  out  of  doutyng 
I bidde  thee  teche  hem,wostowe  howe, 
Bi  somme  general  signe  nowe, 

In  what  place  thou  shalt  founden  be, 
If  that  men  had  myster  of  thee, 

And  how  men  shal  thee  best  espye ; 
For  thee  to  knowe  is  gret  maistrie. 
Telle  in  what  place  is  thyn  hauntyng.” 
“Sir,  I have  fele  dy verse  wonyng, 
That  I kepe  not  rehersed  be ; 

So  that  ye  wolde  respiten  me. 

For  if  that  I telle  you  the  sothe, 

I may  have  harme  and  shame  bothe ; 
If  that  my  felowes  wisten  it, 

My  tabs  shulden  me  be  quytt, 

For  certeyne  they  wolde  hate  me 
If  ever  I knewe  her  cruelte. 

For  they  wolde  overall  holde  hem  stille 
Of  trouthe  that  is  ageyne  her  wille ; 
Suche  tales  kepen  they  not  here. 

I myght  eftsoone  bye  it  full  deere, 

If  I seide  of  hem  ony  thing 
That  ought  displesith  to  her  heryng. 
For  what  word  that  hem  prikketh  or 
biteth, 

In  that  word  noon  of  hem  deliteth, 

A1  were  it  gospel  the  Evangile, 

That  wolde  reprove  hem  of  her  gile. 


For  they  are  cruel  and  hauteyne, 

And  this  thyng  wote  I well  certeyne ; 
If  I speke  ought  to  peire  her  loos, 

Your  court  shal  not  so  well  be  cloos 
That  they  ne  shall  wite  it  atte  last. 

Of  good  men  am  I nought  agast, 

For  they  wole  taken  on  hem  no  thyng, 
Whanne  that  they  knowealmymenyng. 
But  he  that  wole  it  on  hym  take, 

He  wole  hym-silf  suspecious  make 
That  he  his  lyf  let  covertly. 

In  gile  and  in  Ipocrisie 
That  me  engendred  and  yaf  fostryng.” 
“They  made  a full  good  engendryng,” 
Quod  Love,  “for  who  so  sothly  telle, 
They  engendred  the  Devel  of  Helle. 
But  nedely,  how  so  evere  it  be,” 

Quod  Love,  “I  wole  and  charge  thee 
To  telle  anoon  thy  wonyng  places, 
Heryng  ech  wight  that  in  this  place  is, 
And  what  lyf  that  thou  lyvest  also ; 
Hide  it  no  lenger  now — Wherto  ? 
Thou  most  discovere  all  thi  wurchyng, 
H ow  thou  servest,  and  of  what  thyng, 
Though  that  thou  shuldist  for  thi 
sothe-sawe 

Ben  alto  beten  and  to-drawe. 

And  yit  art  thou  not  wont  pardee. 

But  natheles  though  thou  beten  be, 
Thou  shalt  not  be  the  first  that  so 
Hath  for  sothsawe  suffred  woo.” 

“Sir,  sith  that  it  may  liken  you, 
Though  that  I shulde  be  slayne  right  now, 
I shal  done  youre  comaundement, 

For  therto  have  I gret  talent.” 
Withouten  wordis  mo  right  thanne 
Fals-Semblant  his  sermon  biganne, 

And  seide  hem  thus  in  audience : 


L 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


“ Barouns,  take  heede  of  my  sentence  : 
That  wight  that  list  to  have  knowing 
Of  Fals-Semblant,  full  of  flatering, 

He  must  in  worldly  folk  hym  seke. 

And  certes  in  the  cloistres  eke, 

I wone  no  where  but  in  hem  twey  ; 

But  not  lyk  even,  soth  to  sey. 

Shortly,  I wole  herberwe  me 
There  I hope  best  to  holstred  be ; 

And  certeynly  sikerest  hidyng, 

Is  undirnethe  humblest  clothing. 
Religiouse  folk  ben  full  covert, 

Seculer  folk  ben  more  appert. 

But  natheles  I wole  not  blame 
Religious  folk,  ne  hem  diffame  ; 

In  what  habit  that  ever  they  go, 
Religioun  umble  and  trewe  also, 

Wole  I not  blame,  ne  dispise. 

But  I nyl  love  it  in  no  wise — 

I mene  of  false  religious, 

That  stoute  ben  and  malicious, 

That  wolen  in  an  abit  goo, 

And  setten  not  her  herte  therto. 
Religious  folk  ben  al  pitous, 

Thou  shalt  not  seen  oon  dispitous; 

They  loven  no  pride,  ne  no  strif, 

But  humbely  they  wole  lede  her  lyf. 
With  which  folk  wole  I never  be. 

And  if  I dwelle,  I feyne  me. 

I may  wel  in  her  abit  go, 

But  me  were  lever  my  nekke  a-two 
Than  lete  a purpose  that  I take, 

What  covenaunt  that  ever  I make. 

I dwelle  with  hem  that  proude  be, 

And  full  of  wiles  and  subtilte, 

That  worship  of  this  world  coveiten. 

And  grete  nedes  kunnen  espleiten. 

And  gone  and  gadren  gret  pitaunces, 

And  purchace  hem  theacquevntaunces 

82 


Of  men  that  myghty  lyf  may  leden, 
Andfeyne  hem  pore, and  hem  silf  feden 
With  gode  morcels  delicious. 

And  drinken  good  wyne  precious, 

And  preche  us  povert  and  distresse, 
And  fisshen  hem  silf  gret  richesse 
With  wily  nettis  that  they  cast ; 

It  wole  come  foule  out  at  the  last. 
They  ben  fro  clene  religioun  went. 
They  make  the  world  an  argument. 
That  [hath]  a foule  conclusioun  : 

‘I  have  a robe  of  religioun, 

Thanne  am  I all  religious.’ 

This  argument  is  all  roignous, 

It  is  not  worth  a croked  brere ; 

Abit  ne  makith  neithir  monk  ne  frere. 
But  clene  lyf  and  devocioun 
Makith  gode  men  of  religioun. 
Netheles  ther  kan  noon  answere. 

How  high  that  evere  his  heed  he  shere 
With  rasour  whetted  never  so  kene, 
That  Gile  in  braunches  kut  thrittene; 
Ther  can  no  wight  distincte  it  so, 

That  he  dare  sey  a word  therto. 

But  what  herberwe  that  ever  I take 
Or  what  Semblant  that  evere  I make, 

I mene  but  gile,  and  folowe  that. 

For  right  no  mo  than  Gibbe  oure  cat, 
Thatawaitethmvceandrattestokyllen, 
Ne  entende  I but  to  bigilen. 

Ne  no  wight  may  by  my  clothing 
Wite  with  what  folk  is  my  dwellvng, 
Ne  by  my  wordis  yit,  parde. 

So  softe  and  so  plesaunt  thev  be. 
Biholde  the  dedis  that  I do. 

But  thou  be  blynde  thou  oughtest  so. 
For  varie  her  wordis  fro  her  deede, 
Thev  thenke  on  gile  withoute  dreede. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


What  maner  clothing  that  they  were 
Or  what  estate  that  evere  they  here 
Lered  or  lewde,  lord  or  lady, 

Knyght,  squyer,  burgeis,  or  bayly.” 

Right  thus  while  Fals-Semblant 
sermoneth 

Eftsones  Love  hym  aresoneth, 

And  brake  his  tale  in  his  spekyng, 

As  though  he  had  hym  tolde  lesyng, 
And  seide,“What  Devel  is  that  I here? 
What  folk  hast  thouusnempnedheere  ? 
May  men  fynde  religioun 
In  worldly  habitacioun  ?” 

“Ye,  Sir,  it  folowith  not  that  they 
Shulde  lede  a wikked  lyf,  parfey, 

Ne  not  therfore  her  soules  leese, 

That  hem  to  worldly  clothes  chese ; 

For  certis  it  were  gret  pitee. 

Men  may  in  seculer  clothes  see 
Florishen  hooly  religioun. 

Full  many  a seynt  in  feeld  and  toune, 
With  many  a virgine  glorious, 

Devoute  and  full  religious 

Han  deied,that  comyn  cloth  aybeeren, 

Yit  seyntes  nevere  the  lesse  they  weren. 

I cowde  reken  you  many  a ten, 

Ye  wel  nygh  [al]  these  hooly  wymmen. 
That  men  in  chirchis  herie  and  seke, 
Bothe  maydens  and  these  wyves  eke, 
That  barenfull  many  afaire  child  heere, 
Wered  alwey  clothis  seculere, 

And  in  the  same  dieden  they, 

That  seyntes  weren,  and  ben  alwey. 
The  xi.  thousand  maydens  deere, 

That  beren  in  heven  her  ciergis  clere, 
Ofwhiche  men  rede  in  chirche  andsynge, 
Were  take  in  seculer  clothing, 

Whanne  they  resseyved  martirdome, 


And  wonnen  hevene  unto  her  home. 
Good  herte  makith  the  goode  thought, 
The  clothingyeveth  ne  reveth  nought ; 
The  goode  thought  and  the  worching 
That  makith  the  religioun  flowryng — 
Ther  lyth  the  goode  religioun, 

Aftir  the  right  entencioun. 

Whoso  took  a wether’s  skynne, 

And  wrapped  a gredy  wolf  therynne 
For  he  shulde  go  with  lambis  whyte, 
Wenest  thou  not  he  wolde  hem  bite? 
Yis,  neverthelasse,  as  he  were  woode, 
He  wolde  hem  wery  and  drinke  ther 
bloode, 

And  wel  the  rather  hem  disceyve ; 

For  sith  they  cowde  not  perceyve 
His  treget  and  his  cruelte, 

They  wolde  hym  folowe  al  wolde  he  fle. 
If  ther  be  wolves  of  sich  hewe 
Amonges  these  apostlis  newe, 

Thou,  Hooly  Chirche,  thou  maist  be 
wailed, 

Sith  that  thy  Citee  is  assayled 
Thourgh  knyghtis  of  thyn  owne  table. 
God  wote  thi  lordship  is  doutable, 

If  thei  enforce  [hem]  it  to  wynne, 
That  shulde  defende  it  fro  withynne. 
Who  myght  defense  ayens  hem  make  ? 
Withoute  stroke  it  mote  be  take 
Of  trepeget,  or  mangonel, 

Without  displaiyng  of  pensel. 

And  if  God  nyl  done  it  socour, 

But  lat  [it]  renne  in  this  colour, 

Thou  most  thyn  heestis  laten  be ; 
Thanne  is  ther  nought  but  yelde  thee, 
Or  yeve  hem  tribute  doutelees, 

And  holde  it  of  hem  to  have  pees. 

But  gretter  harme  bitideth  thee 
83 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  they  al  maister  of  it  be. 

Wei  konne  they  scorne  thee  withal; 

By  daye  stuffen  they  the  wall, 

And  al  the  nyght  they  mynen  there. 
Nay,  thou  planten  most  elles  where 
Thyn  ympes,  if  thou  wolt  fruyt  have ; 
Abide  not  there  thi-silf  to  save. 

But  now  pees!  Heere  I turne  ageyne, 

I wole  nomore  of  this  thing  seyne, 

If  I may  passen  me  herby. 

I myghte  maken  you  wery  ; 

But  I wole  heten  you  al-way 
To  helpe  youre  freendis,  what  I may, 

So  they  wollen  my  company ; 

For  they  be  shent  al  outerly, 

But  if  so  falle  that  I be 
Ofte  with  hem  and  they  with  me. 

And  eke  my  lemman  mote  they  serve, 

Or  they  shull  not  my  love  deserve. 
Forsothe  I am  a fals  traitour, 

God  jugged  me  for  a theef  trichour; 
Forsworne  I am,  but  wel  nygh  none 
Wote  of  my  gile  til  it  be  done. 

Thurgh  me  hath  many  oon  deth  ressey  ved, 
That  my  treget  nevere  aperceyved  ; 

And  yit  resseyveth,  and  shal  resseyve, 
That  my  falsnesse  shal  nevereapercey  ve. 
But  who  so  doth,  if  he  wise  be, 

Hym  is  right  good  be  war  of  me. 

But  so  sligh  is  the  deceyvyng 
That  to  hard  is  the  aperceyvyng. 

For  Protheus,  that  cowde  hymchaunge. 

In  every  shap  homely  and  straunge, 
Cowde  nevere  sich  gile  ne  tresoune 
As  I.  For  I come  never  in  toune, 

There  as  I myght  knowen  be; 

Though  men  me  bot  he  my  gh  there  and  see, 
Full  wel  I can  mv  clothis  chaunge, 

84 


Take  oon  and  make  another  straunge. 
Now  am  I knyght,  now  chastelevne. 
Now  prelat,  and  now  chapeleyne. 

Now  prest,nowclerk,and  now  forstere ; 
Now  am  I maister,  now  scolere, 

Now  monke,  now  chanoun,  now  bailv ; 
What  ever  myster  man  am  I, 

Now  am  I prince,  now  am  I page, 

And  kan  by  herte  every  langage ; 
Somme  tyme  am  I hore  and  olde, 
NowamIyonge,[and]stoute,andbolde ; 
Now  am  I Robert,  now  Robyn, 

Now  Frere  Menour,  now  Iacobyn. 
And  with  me  folwith  my  loteby, 

To  done  me  solas  and  company, 

That  high  t Dame  Abstinence-Streyned. 
In  many  a queynte  array  feyned, 

Ryght  as  it  cometh  to  hir  lykyng, 

I fulfille  al  hir  desiryng; 

Somtyme  a wommans  cloth  take  I, 
Now  am  I mayde,  now  lady ; 

Somtyme  I am  religious, 

Now  lyk  an  anker  in  an  hous; 
Somtyme  am  I Prioresse, 

And  now  a nonne,  and  now  Abbesse ; 
And  go  thurgh  alle  regiouns, 

Sekyng  all  religiouns. 

But  to  what  ordre  that  I am  sworne, 

I take  the  strawe,  and  lete  the  corne 
To  joly  folk  I enhabite; 

I axe  nomore  but  her  abite. 

What  wole  ye  more?  In  every  wise. 
Right  as  me  lyst,  I me  disgise; 

Wel  can  I wre  me  undir  wede, 

Unlyk  is  my  word  to  my  dede. 

[I]  make  into  my  trappis  falle, 

Thurgh  my  pryveleges,  alle 
That  ben  in  Cristendome  alyve, 

I may  assoile  and  I may  shrvve 


. 

THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


(That  no  prelat  may  lette  me) 

All  folk  where  evere  thei  founde  be  ; 

I note  no  prelate  may  done  so, 

But  it  the  pope  be,  and  no  mo, 

That  made  thilk  establisshing. 

Now  is  not  this  a propre  thing? 

But  where  my  sleight  is  aperceyved, 
Of  hem  I am  nomore  resceyved, 

As  I was  wont ; and  wostow  why  ? 

For  I dide  hem  a tregetrie. 

But  therof  yeve  I lytel  tale ; 

I have  the  silver  and  the  male. 

So  have  I prechid,  and  eke  shriven. 

So  have  I take,  so  have  me  yiven 
Thurgh  her  foly  husbonde  and  wyf, 
That  I lede  right  a joly  lyf, 

Thurgh  symplesse  of  the  prelacye ; 
They  knowe  not  al  my  tregettrie. 

But  for  asmoche  as  man  and  wyf 
Shulde  shewe  her  paroch-prest  her  lyf 
Onys  a yeer,  as  seith  the  book, 

Er  ony  wight  his  housel  took, 

Thanne  have  I pryvylegis  large 
That  may  of  myche  thing  discharge. 
For  he  may  seie  right  thus,  parde : — 
‘Sir  Preest,  in  shrift  I telle  it  thee, 
That  he  to  whom  that  I am  shryven 
Hath  me  assoiled,  and  me  yiven 
For  penaunce  sothly  for  my  synne 
Which  that  I fonde  me  gilty  ynne ; 

Ne  I ne  have  nevere  entencioun, 

To  make  double  confessioun, 

Ne  reherce  efte  my  shrift  to  thee ; 

0 shrift  is  right  ynough  to  me. 

This  oughte  thee  suffice  wele, 

Ne  be  not  rebel  never  a dele, 

F or  certis,  though  thou  haddist  it  sworn, 

1 wote  no  prest  ne  prelat  borne 

That  may  to  shrift  efte  me  constreyne. 


And  if  they  done,  I wole  me  pleyne. 
For  I wote  where  to  pleyne  wele. 
Thou  shalt  not  streyne  me  a dele 
Ne  enforce  me,  ne  not  me  trouble 
To  make  my  confessioun  double. 

Ne  I have  none  affeccioun. 

To  have  double  absolucioun. 

The  firste  is  right  ynough  to  me, 

This  latter  assoilyng  quyte  I thee. 

I am  unbounde — What ! Maist  thou 
fynde 

More  of  my  synnes  me  to  unbynde  ! 
For  he  that  myght  hath  in  his  honde 
Of  all  my  synnes  me  unbonde. 

And  if  thou  wolt  me  thus  constreyne 
That  me  mote  nedis  on  thee  pleyne, 
There  shall  no  jugge  imperial 
Ne  bisshop,  ne  official, 

Donejugement  on  me;  for  I 
Shal  gone  and  pleyne  me  openly 
Unto  my  shriftefadir  newe, 

That  highte  not  Frere  Wolf  untrewe  ! 
And  he  shal  chevys  hym  for  me, 

For  I trowe  he  can  hampre  thee. 

But  lord  ! he  wolde  be  wrooth  withall. 
If  men  hym  wolde  Frere  Wolf  call; 
For  he  wolde  have  no  pacience, 

But  done  al  cruel  vengeaunce; 

He  wolde  his  myght  done  at  the  leest 
No  thing  spare,  for  goddis  heest. 

And  god  so  wys  be  my  socour, 

But  thou  yeve  me  my  Savyour 
At  Ester,  whanne  it  likith  me, 
Withoute  presyng  more  on  thee, 

I wole  forth  and  to  hym  gone, 

And  he  shal  housel  me  anoon. 

For  I am  out  of  thi  grucching; 

I kepe  not  dele  with  thee  no  thing.’ 
Thusmay  he  shryve  hym  that  forsaketh 
8S 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


His  paroch  prest,  and  to  me  takith  ; 
And  if  the  prest  wole  hym  refuse, 

I am  full  redy  hym  to  accuse. 

And  hym  punysshe  and  hampre  so 
That  he  his  chirche  shal  forgo. 

But  who  so  hath  in  his  felyng 
The  consequence  of  such  shryvyng, 
Shall  sene  that  prest  may  never  have 
myght 

To  knowe  the  conscience  a-right 
Of  hym  that  is  undir  his  cure. 

And  this  ageyns  Holy  Scripture, 

That  biddith  every  heerde  honeste 
Have  verry  knowing  of  his  beeste. 

But  pore  folk  that  gone  by  strete, 

That  have  no  gold,  ne  sommes  grete, 
Hem  wolde  I lete  to  her  prelates; 

Or  lete  her  prestis  knowe  her  states. 
Forto  me  right  nought  yeve  they.” 

“ And  why  ?” 

“It  is  for  they  ne  may. 
They  ben  so  bare  I take  no  kepe, 

But  I wole  have  the  fatte  sheepe ; 

Lat  parish  prestis  have  the  lene, 

I yeve  not  of  her  harme  a bene. 

And  if  that  prelates  grucche  it. 

That  oughten  wroth  be  in  her  witt 
To  leese  her  fatte  beestes  so, 

I shal  yeve  hem  a stroke  or  two 
That  they  shal  leesen  with  [her]  force 
Ye  bothe  her  mytre  and  her  croce. 
Thus  jape  I hem,  and  have  do  longe, 
My  pryveleges  ben  so  stronge.” 

Fals-Semblaunt  wolde  have  stynted 
heere. 

But  Love  ne  made  hym  no  such  cheere 
That  he  was  wery  of  his  sawe, 


But  forto  make  hvm  glad  and  fawe 
He  seide : “Telle  on  more  specialy, 
How  that  thou  servest  untrewly; 
Telleforth,and  shamethee  never  a dele 
For  as  thyn  abit  shewith  wele 
Thou  semest  an  hooly  heremyte.” 
“Sothe  is,  but  I am  an  ypocrite.” 
“Thou  goste  and  prechest  poverte.” 
“Ye  sir  but  richesse  hath  pouste.” 
“Thou  prechest  abstinence  also.” 

“Sir,  I wole  fillen,  so  mote  I go, 

My  paunche  of  good  mete  and  [good] 
wyne. 

As  shulde  a maister  of  dyvyne; 

For  how  that  I me  pover  feyne, 

Yit  all [e]  pore  folk  I disdevne. 

I Love  bettir  thacqueyntaunce 
Ten  tyme  of  the  Kyng  of  Fraunce, 
Than  of  a pore  man  of  mvlde  mode. 
Though  that  his  soule  be  also  gode. 
For  whanne  I see  beggers  quakyng 
Naked  on  myxnes  al  stynkyng 
For  hungre  crie,  and  eke  for  care, 

I entremete  not  of  her  fare. 

They  ben  so  pore  and  iul  of  pyne, 
They  myght  not  oonys  yeve  me  a dyne 
For  they  have  no  thing  but  her  lyf; 
What  shulde  he  yeve  that  likketh  his 
knyf? 

It  is  but  foly  to  entremete. 

To  seke  in  houndes  nest  fat  mete. 

Lete  bere  hem  to  the  spitel  anoon, 

But  for  me  comfort  gete  they  noon. 

But  a riche  sike  usurere 
Wolde  1 visite  and  drawe  nere; 

Hym  wole  I comforte  and  rehete. 

For  I hope  of  his  gold  to  gete. 

And  if  that  wikkid  deth  hym  have. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


I wole  go  with  hym  to  his  grave ; 

And  if  ther  ony  reprove  me 
Why  that  I lete  the  pore  be, 

Wostow  how  I mot  a-scape? 

I sey  and  swere  hym  ful  rape 
That  riche  men  han  more  tecches 
Of  synne  than  han  pore  wrecches. 

And  han  of  counsel  more  mister. 

And  therfore  I wole  drawe  hem  ner. 
But  as  grete  hurt,  it  may  so  be. 

Hath  soule  in  right  grete  poverte 
As  soule  in  grete  richesse,  forsothe, 

A1  be  it  that  they  hurten  bothe ; 

For  richesse  and  mendicitees 
Ben  clepid  ii.  extremytees; 

The  mene  is  cleped  suffisaunce, 

Ther  lyth  of  vertu  the  aboundaunce. 
For  Salamon,  full  wel  I wote, 

In  his  Parablis  us  wrote, 

As  it  is  knowe  to  many  a wight. 

In  his  thrittene  chapitre  right  : 

‘God  thou  me  kepe,  for  thi  pouste, 

Fro  richesse  and  mendicite ; 

For  if  a riche  man  hym  dresse, 

To  thenke  to  myche  on  [his]  richesse, 
His  herte  on  that  so  fer  is  sett, 

That  he  his  creatour  foryett ; 

And  hym  that  begging  wole  ay  greve. 
How  shulde  I bi  his  word  hym  leve  ? 
Unnethe  [is]  that  he  nys  a mycher 
Forsworne  or  ellis  God  is  Iyer.’ 

Thus  seith  Salamones  sawes. 

Ne  we  fynde  writen  in  no  lawis 
And  namely  in  oure  Cristen  lay 
(Whoso  seith,  ‘Ye,’  I dar  sey,  ‘Nay,’) 
That  Crist  ne  his  apostlis  dere, 

While  that  theywalkide  inerthe  heere, 
Were  never  seen  her  bred  beggyng ; 
For  they  nolde  beggen  for  no  thing. 


And  right  thus  was  men  wont  to  teche 
And  in  this  wise  wolde  it  preche 
The  maistres  of  divinite 
Somtyme  in  Parys  the  citee. 

And  if  men  wolde  ther-geyn  appose 
The  nakid  text  and  lete  the  glose, 

It  myghte  soone  assoiled  be. 

For  men  may  wel  the  sothe  see, 

That,  parde,  they  myght  aske  a thing 
Pleynly  forth  without  begging ; 

For  they  were  Goddis  herdis  deere, 
And  cure  of  soules  hadden  heere. 
They  nolde  no  thing  begge  her  fode ; 
For  aftir  Crist  was  done  on  rode 
With  therpropre  hondis  they  wrought 
And  with  travel,  and  ellis  nought, 
They  wonnen  all  her  sustenaunce, 
And  lyveden  forth  in  her  penaunce, 
And  the  remenaunt  yaf  awey 
To  other  pore  folkis  alwey. 

They  neither  bilden  tour  ne  halle, 

But  ley  in  houses  smale  with-alle. 

A myghty  man  that  can  and  may, 
Shulde  with  his  honde  and  body  alway 
Wynne  hym  his  fode  in  laboring, 

If  he  ne  have  rent  or  sich  a thing, 

A1  though  he  be  religious, 

And  god  to  serven  curious. 

Thus  mote  he  done,  or  do  trespas, 

But  if  it  be  in  certeyn  cas, 

That  I can  reherce  if  myster  be 
Right  wel,  whanne  the  tyme  I se. 
Seke  the  book  of  seynt  Austyne, 

Be  it  in  papir  or  perchemyne, 

There  as  he  writ  of  these  worchynges 
Thou  shalt  seen  that  noon  excusynges 
A parfit  man  ne  shulde  seke 
Bi  wordis,  ne  bi  dedis  eke, 

A1  though  he  be  religious 
87 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  god  to  serven  curious, 

That  he  ne  shal,  so  mote  I go, 

With  propre  hondis  and  body  also, 

Gete  his  fode  in  laboryng, 

If  he  ne  have  proprete  of  thing. 

Yit  shulde  he  selle  all  his  substaunce 
And  with  his  swynk  have  sustenaunce, 
If  he  be  parfit  in  bounte; 

Thus  han  tho  bookes  tolde  me. 

For  he  that  wole  gone  ydilly 
And  usith  it  ay  besily 
To  haunten  other  mennes  table, 

He  is  a trechour  ful  of  fable, 

Ne  he  ne  may  by  gode  resoun 
Excuse  hym  by  his  orisoun  ; 

For  men  bihoveth  in  somme  gise 
Blynne  somtyme  in  Goddis  servise 
To  gone  and  purchasen  her  nede. 

Men  mote  eten,  that  is  no  drede, 

And  slepe,  and  eke  do  other  thing ; 

So  longe  may  they  leve  praiyng; 

So  may  they  eke  her  praier  blynne, 

Wh  ile  that  they  werke  her  mete  to  wynne. 
Seynt  Austyn  wole  therto  accorde 
In  thilke  book  that  I recorde. 

Justinian  eke,  that  made  lawes, 

Hath  thus  forboden,  by  old  dawes. 

No  man  up  peyne  to  be  dede, 

Mighty  of  body,  to  begge  his  brede, 

If  he  may  swynke  itforto  gete; 
Menshuldehymrather  mayme  or  bete, 
Or  done  of  hym  aperte  justice. 

Than  suffren  hym  in  such  malice. 

They  done  not  wel,  so  mote  I go, 

That  taken  such  almesse  so, 

But  if  they  have  somme  pryvelege, 

That  of  the  peyne  hem  wole  allege. 

But  how  that  is,  can  I not  see, 

But  if  the  prince  disseyved  be. 


Ne  I ne  wene  not  sikerly 
That  they  may  have  it  rightfully. 

But  I wole  not  determine 
Of  prynces  power,  ne  defvne, 

Ne  by  my  word  comprende,  I-wys, 

If  it  so  ferre  may  strecche  in  this ; 

I wole  not  entremete  a dele. 

But  I trowe  that  the  book  seith  wele. 
Who  that  takith  almessis  that  be 
Dewe  to  folk,  that  men  may  se 
Lame,  feble,  wery  and  bare, 

Pore  or  in  such  maner  care, 

That  konne  wynne  hem  never  mo, 

For  they  have  no  power  therto, 

He  etith  his  owne  dampnyng. 

But  if  he  lye  that  made  al  thing. 

And  if  ye  such  a truaunt  fynde, 

Chastise  hym  wel,  if  ye  be  kynde. 

But  they  wolde  hate  you  percas, 

And  if  ye  fillen  in  her  laas, 

They  wolde  eftsoonys  do  you  scathe, 

If  that  they  myghte,  late  or  rathe. 

For  they  be  not  full  pacient, 

That  han  the  world  thus  foule  blent. 
And  witeth  wel,  that  [though]  God  bad 
The  good-man  selle  al  that  he  had. 

And  folowe  hym,  and  to  pore  it  yive, 
He  wolde  not  therfore  that  he  lyve 
To  serven  hym  in  mendience. 

For  it  was  nevere  his  sentence. 

Buthe  bad  wirkenwhannethatneedeis. 
And  folwe  hym  in  goode  dedis. 

Seynt  Poule,thatlovedal  Hooly  Chirche, 
He  bade  thappostles  forto  wirche, 

And  wynnen  her  lytlode  in  that  wise. 
And  hem  defended  truaundise; 

And  seide,‘Wirketh  with  youre  honden' 
Thusshulde  the  thing  be  undirstonden. 
He  nolde,I-wvs,  have bidde  hem  begging. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Ne  sellen  gospel  ne  prechyng, 

Lest  they  berafte,  with  her  askyng, 

Folk  of  her  catel  or  of  her  thing. 

For  in  this  world  is  many  a man 
That  yeveth  his  good  for  he  ne  can 
Werne  it  for  shame,  or  ellis  he 
Wolde  of  the  asker  delyvered  be ; 

And  for  he  hym  encombrith  so, 

He  yeveth  hym  good  to  late  hym  go. 

But  it  can  hem  no  thyng  profit 
They  lese  the  yift  and  the  meryte. 

The  goode  folk  that  Poule  to  preched 
Profredhymofte,whan  he  hem  teched, 
Somme  of  her  good  in  charite. 

But  therfore  right  no  thing  toke  he, 

But  of  his  hondwerk  wolde  he  gete 
Clothes  to  wryne  hym,  and  his  mete.” 

“ T elle  me  thanne  how  a man  may  ly  ven. 
That  al  his  good  to  pore  hath  yiven, 

And  wole  but  oonly  bidde  his  bedis, 

And  nevere  with  hondeslabour  his  nedeis. 
May  he  do  so  ? ” 

“ Ye  sir.” 

“ And  how  ? ” 

“ Sir,  I wole  gladly  telle  yow. 

Seynt  Austyn  seith  a man  may  be 
In  houses  that  han  proprete, 

As  Templers,  and  Hospitelers, 

And  as  these  Chanouns  Regulers, 

Or  White  monkes  or  these  Blake — 

I wole  no  mo  ensamplis  make — 

And  take  therof  his  sustenyng, 

For  therynne  lyth  no  begging  ; 

But  other  wey[e]s  not,  y-wys, 

Yif  Austyn  gabbith  not  of  this. 

And  yit  full  many  a monke  laboreth, 
That  God  in  hooly  chirche  honoureth  ; 

89 


For  whanne  her  swynkyng  is  agone, 
They  rede  and  synge  in  chirche  anone. 
And  for  ther  hath  ben  gret  discorde, 
As  many  a wight  may  bere  recorde, 
Upon  the  estate  of  mendience, 

I wole  shortly,  in  youre  presence, 

Telle  how  a man  may  begge  at  nede. 
That  hath  not  wherwith  hym  to  fede. 
Maugre  this  felones  jangelyngis, 

For  sothfastnesse  wole  none  hidyngis  ; 
And  yit  percas  I may  abey, 

That  I to  yow  sothly  thus  sey. 

Lo  heere  the  caas  especial  : 

If  a man  be  so  bestial, 

That  he  of  no  craft  hath  science, 

And  nought  desireth  ignorence, 
Thanne  may  he  go  a-begging  yerne, 
Til  he  somme  maner  crafte  kan  lerne  ; 
Thurgh  which  withoute  truaundyng 
He  may  in  trouthe  have  his  lyvyng. 

Or  if  he  may  done  no  labour 
For  elde,  or  sykenesse,  or  langour, 

Or  for  his  tendre  age  also, 

Thanne  may  he  yit  a-begging  go. 

Or  if  he  have  peraventure, 

Thurgh  usage  of  his  norriture, 

Lyved  over  deliciously, 

Thanne  oughten  good  folk  comunly 
Han  of  his  myscheef  somme  pitee, 
And  suffren  hym  also  that  he 
May  gone  aboute  and  begge  his  breed, 
That  he  be  not  for  hungur  deed. 

Or  if  he  have  of  craft  kunnyng, 

And  strengthe  also,  and  desiryng 
To  wirken  as  he  had  what 
But  he  fynde  neithir  this  ne  that, 
Thanne  may  he  begge,  til  that  he 
Have  geten  his  necessite. 


M 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Or  if  his  wynnyng  be  so  lite 
That  his  labour  wole  not  acquyte 
Sufficiantly  al  his  lyvyng, 

Yit  may  he  go  his  breed  begging; 

Fro  dore  to  dore  he  may  go  trace, 

Til  he  the  remenaunt  may  purchace. 

Or  if  a man  wolde  undirtake 
Ony  emprise  forto  make 
In  the  rescous  of  oure  lay, 

And  it  defenden  as  he  may, 

Be  it  with  armes  or  lettrure 
Or  other  covenable  cure, 

If  it  be  so  he  pore  be, 

Thanne  may  he  begge  til  that  he 
May  fynde  in  trouthe  forto  swynke, 
And  gete  hym  clothe,  mete  and  drvnke, 
Swynke  he  with  hondis  corporell 
And  not  with  hondis  espirituell. 

In  al  this  caas  and  in  semblables. 

If  that  ther  ben  mo  resonables. 

He  may  begge  as  I telle  you  heere, 

And  ellis  nought  in  no  manere  ; 

As  William  Seynt  Amour  wolde  preche. 
And  ofte  wolde  dispute  and  teche, 

Of  this  mater  all  openly 
At  Parys  full  solempnely. 

And,  also  god  my  soule  blesse. 

As  he  had  in  this  stedfastnesse 
The  accorde  of  the  universite 
And  of  the  puple,  as  semeth  me, 

No  good  man  oughte  it  to  refuse, 

Ne  ought  hym  therof  to  excuse. 

Be  wrothe  or  blithe  who-so  be. 

For  I wole  speke  and  telle  it  thee, 

Al  shulde  I dye,  and  be  putt  doun 
As  was  seynt  Poule  in  derke  prisoun. 
Or  be  exiled  in  this  caas 
With  wrong,  as  maister  William  was, 
That  my  moder,  Ypocrysie, 


Banysshed  for  hir  gret  envve. 

My  modir  flemed  hvm,  Sevnt  Amour : 
The  noble  dide  such  labour 
To  susteyne  evere  the  lovalte, 

That  he  to  moche  agilte  me  ; 

He  made  a book,  and  lete  it  write 
Wheryn  hvs  lyfe  he  dvd  al  write. 

And  wolde  ich  reneyed  begging, 

And  lyved  by  my  traveylyng, 

If  I ne  had  rent  ne  other  gooae. 

What ! Wened  he  that  I were  woode  ? 
For  labour  myght  me  never  plese, 

I have  more  wille  to  bene  at  ese, 

And  have  wel  lever,  soth  to  sev, 

Bifore  the  puple  patre  and  prev ; 

And  wrie  me  in  my  foxerie 
Under  a cope  of  papelardie.” 

Quod  Love,  “What  devel  is  this  that 
I heere? 

What  wordis  tellest  thou  me  heere?” 
“What,  Sir?” 

“Falsnesse  that  apert  is; 
Thanne  dredist  thou  not  god?” 

“No  certis ; 

For  selde  in  grete  thing  shal  he  spede 
In  this  worlde,  that  god  wole  drede. 
For  folk  that  hem  to  vertu  vvven, 

And  truly  on  her  owne  lyven. 

And  hem  in  goodnesse  av  contene, 

On  hem  is  lytel  thrift  y-sene. 

Such  folk  drinken  gret  mvsese; 

That  lyf  may  me  never  plese. 

But  se  what  gold  han  usurers 
And  silver  eke  in  [her]  garners, 
Taylagiers  and  these  monyours, 

Bailifs,  bedels,  provost  countours 
These  lyven  wel  nysrh  bv  ravyne. 

The  smale  puple  hem  mote  enclvne, 
90 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  they  as  wolves  wole  hem  eten. 
Upon  the  pore  folk  they  geten 
Full  mocheof  that  they  spende  or  kepe. 
Nis  none  of  hem  that  he  nyl  strepe, 
And  wrine  hem  silf  wel  atte  fulle ; 
Withoute  scaldyng  they  hem  pulle. 
The  stronge  the  feble  overgoth, 

But  I,  that  were  my  symple  cloth, 
Robbe  bothe  robbed  and  robbours, 
And  gile  giled  and  gilours. 

By  my  treget,  I gadre  and  threste 
The  gret  tresour  into  my  cheste, 

That  lyth  with  me  so  faste  bounde. 
Myn  highe  paleys  do  I founde, 

And  my  delites  I fulfille 
With  wyne  at  feestes  at  my  wille 
And  tables  full  of  entremees. 

I wole  no  lyf  but  ese  and  pees, 

And  wynne  gold  to  spende  also. 

For  whanne  the  grete  bagge  is  go, 

It  cometh  right  with  my  japes. 

Make  I not  wel  tumble  myn  apes? 

To  wynnen  is  alwey  myn  entent, 

My  purchace  is  bettir  than  my  rent ; 
For  though  I shulde  beten  be, 

Over-al  I entremete  me ; 

Withoute  me  may  no  wight  dure. 

I walke  soules  forto  cure, 

Of  al  the  worlde  cure  have  I 
In  brede  and  lengthe.  Bold[e]ly 
I wole  bothe  precheandeke  counceilen; 
With  hondis  wille  I not  traveilen, 

For  of  the  Pope  I have  the  bull, 

I ne  holde  not  my  wittes  dull. 

I wole  not  stynten  in  my  lyve 
These  emperouris  forto  shryve, 

Or  kyngis,  dukis,  lordis  grete; 

But  pore  folk  al  quyte  I lete, 

I love  no  such  shryvyng,  parde ; 


But  it  for  other  cause  be, 

I rekke  not  of  pore  men — 

Her  astate  is  not  worth  an  hen  ; 
Wherefyndest  thouaswynker  of  labour 
Have  me  unto  his  confessour? 

But  emperesses  and  duchesses, 

Thise  queenes,  and  eke  countesses, 
Thise  abbessis,  and  eke  bygyns. 

These  grete  ladyes  palasyns, 

These  joly  knyghtis  and  baillyves, 
Thise  nonnes,  and  thise  burgeis  wyves 
That  riche  ben  and  eke  plesyng. 

And  thise  maidens  welfaryng, 

Wher  so  they  clad  or  naked  be, 
Uncounceiled  goth  ther  noon  fro  me. 
And  for  her  soules  savete 
At  lord  and  lady  and  her  meyne 
I axe,  whanne  thei  hem  to  me  shryve, 
The  proprete  of  al  her  lyve, 

And  make  hem  trowe,  bothe  meest 
and  leest, 

Hir  paroch  prest  nys  but  a beest 
Ayens  me  and  my  companye, 

That  shrewis  ben  as  gret  as  I. 

Fro  whiche  I wole  not  hide  in  holde 
No  pryvete  that  me  is  tolde, 

That  I,  by  word  or  signe  y-wis, 

[Nyl]  make  hem  knowe  what  it  is. 
And  they  wolen  also  tellen  me, 

They  hele  fro  me  no  pryvyte, 

And  forto  make  yow  hem  perceyven, 
That  usen  folk  thus  to  disceyven, 

I wole  you  seyn  withouten  drede 
What  men  may  in  the  gospel  rede 
Of  seynt  Mathew,  the  gospelere, 

That  seith  as  I shal  you  sey  heere  : 

‘Uppon  the  chaire  of  Moyses 
(Thus  is  it  glosed  douteles : 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  is  the  Olde  Testament, 

For  ther-by  is  the  chaire  ment) 

Sitte  Scribes  and  Pharisen 
(That  is  to  seyn,  the  cursid  men 
Whiche  that  we  ypocritis  calle). 

Doth  that  they  preche,  I rede  you  alle, 
But  doth  not  as  they  don  a dele  ; 

That  ben  not  wery  to  seye  wele, 

But  to  do  wel  no  will  have  they. 

And  they  wolde  bynde  on  folk  al-wey, 
That  ben  to  be  giled  able, 

Burdons  that  ben  importable. 
Onfolkesshuldristhingestheycouchen, 
That  they  nyl  with  her  fyngris  touchen.’ 

“And  why  wole  they  not  touche  it?” 
“Why, 

For  hem  ne  lyst  not  sikirly, 

For  sadde  burdons  that  men  taken, 

Make  folkes  shuldris  aken. 

And  if  they  do  ought  that  good  be, 

That  is  for  folk  it  shulde  se. 

Her  bordurs  larger  maken  they, 

And  make  her  hemmes  wide  alwey, 

And  loven  setes  at  the  table. 

The  firste  and  moste  honourable, 

And  forto  han  the  firste  chaieris 
In  synagogis  to  hem  full  deere  is, 
Andwillen  that  folk  hemloute  and  grete, 
Whanne  that  they  passen  thurgh  thestrete, 
And  wolen  be  cleped  ‘Maister’  also. 

But  they  ne  shulde  not  willen  so, 

The  gospel  is  ther-ageyns,  I gesse. 

That  shewith  wel  her  wikkidnesse. 

Another  custome  use  we 
Of  hem  that  wole  ayens  us  be; 

We  hate  hym  deedly  everichone, 

And  we  wole  werrev  hym  as  oon  ; 

J j 

Hym  that  oon  hatith  hate  we  alle, 

92 


And  congecte  how  to  done  hym  falle. 
And  if  we  seen  hym  wynne  honour, 
Richesse,  or  preis,  thurgh  his  valour, 
Provende,  rent,  or  dignyte, 

Full  fast  y-wys  compassen  we 
Bi  what  ladder  he  is  clomben  so  ; 

And  forto  maken  hym  doun  to  go 
With  traisoun  we  wole  hym  defame, 
And  done  hym  leese  his  goode  name. 
Thus  from  his  ladder  we  hvm  take, 
And  thus  his  freendis  foes  we  make. 
But  word  ne  wife  shal  he  noon, 

Till  all  hise  freendis  ben  his  foon. 

For  if  we  dide  it  openly 
We  myght  have  blame  redilv  ; 

For  hadde  he  wist  of  oure  malice, 

He  hadde  hym  kept,  but  he  were  nyce. 

Another  is  this,  that  if  so  falle 
That  ther  be  oon  amonge  us  alle 
That  doth  a good  turne  out  of  drede, 
We  seyn  it  is  oure  alder  deede. 

Ye  sikerly  though  he  it  fevned, 

Or  that  hym  list,  or  that  hym  devned 
A man  thurgh  hvm  avaunced  be, 
Therof  all  parseners  be  we, 

And  tellen  folk  where  so  we  go. 

That  man  thurgh  us  is  sprongen  so. 
And  forto  have  of  men  preysyng, 

We  purchace  thurgh  oure  flateryng 
Of  riche  men  of  gret  pouste 
Lettres  to  witnesse  oure  bounte. 

So  that  man  weneth  that  may  us  see 
That  alle  vertu  in  us  be. 

And  al-wey  pore  we  us  fevne  ; 

But  how  so  that  we  begge  or  pleyne, 
We  ben  the  folk  without  lesyng 
That  all  thing  have  without  havyng. 
Thus  be  we  dred  of  the  puple  v-wis. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  gladly  my  purpos  is  this : 

I dele  with  no  wight  but  he 
Have  gold  and  tresour  gret  plente ; 

Her  acqueyntaunce  wel  love  I, 

This  is  moche  my  desire  shortly. 

I entremete  me  of  brokages, 

I make  pees  and  mariages, 

I am  gladly  executour, 

And  many  tymes  procuratour; 

I am  somtyme  messager 
(That  fallith  not  to  my  myster), 

And  many  tymes  I make  enquestes — 
For  me  that  office  not  honest  is. 

To  dele  with  other  mennes  thing, 

That  is  to  me  a gret  lykyng. 

And  if  that  ye  have  ought  to  do 
In  place  that  I repeire  to, 

I shal  it  speden  thurgh  my  witt, 

As  soone  as  ye  have  told  me  it. 

So  that  ye  serve  me  to  pay, 

My  servyse  shal  be  youre  alway ; 

But  who-so  wole  chastise  me, 

Anoon  my  love  lost  hath  he. 

For  I love  no  man  in  no  gise 
That  wole  me  repreve  or  chastise ; 

But  I wolde  al  folk  undirtake, 

And  of  no  wight  no  teching  take ; 

For  I that  other  folk  chastie, 

Wole  not  be  taught  fro  my  folie. 

I love  noon  hermitage  more ; 

All  desertes,  and  holtes  hore, 

And  grete  wodes  everichon, 

I lete  hem  to  the  Baptist  Iohn. 

I quethe  hym  quyte,  and  hym  relese 
Of  Egipt  all  the  wildirnesse. 

To  ferre  were  alle  my  mansiouns 
Fro  al  citees  and  goode  tounes; 

My  paleis  and  myn  hous  make  I 
There  men  may  renne  ynne  openly ; 

93 


And  sey  that  I the  world  forsake, 

But  al  amydde  I bilde  and  mak 
Myhous,andswimmeandpley  therynne. 
Bet  than  a fish  doth  with  his  fynne. 

Of  Antecristes  men  am  I, 

Of  whiche  that  Crist  seith  openly, 

They  have  abit  of  hoolynesse, 

And  lyven  in  such  wikkednesse. 
Outward  lambren  semen  we, 

Full  of  goodnesse  and  of  pitee, 

And  inward  we  withouten  fable 
Ben  gredy  wolves  ravysable. 

We  enviroune  bothe  londe  and  se, 

With  all  the  worlde  werrien  we ; 

We  wole  ordeyne  of  alle  thing, 

Of  folkis  good  and  her  lyvyng. 

If  ther  be  castel  or  citee 
Wherynne  that  ony  bourgerons  be, 

Al  though  that  they  of  Milayne  were 
(For  therof  ben  they  blamed  there) ; 

Or  if  a wight  out  of  mesure 
Wolde  lene  his  gold  and  take  usure, 

For  that  he  is  so  coveitous ; 

Or  if  he  be  to  leccherous, 

Or  these  that  haunte  symonye, 

Or  provost  full  of  trecherie, 

Or  prelat  lyvyng  jolily. 

Or  prest  that  halt  his  quene  hym  by, 

Or  olde  horis  hostilers, 

Or  other  bawdes  or  bordillers, 

Or  elles  blamed  of  ony  vice 
Of  whiche  men  shulden  done  justice: 

Bi  all  the  seyntes  that  me  pray, 

But  they  defende  them  with  lamprey. 
With  luce,  with  elys,  with  samons. 
With  tendre  gees,  and  with  capons, 
With  tartes,  or  with  chesis  fat, 

With  deynte  dawns  brode  and  dat, 

With  caleweis,  or  with  pullaylle, 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


With  conynges,  or  with  fyne  vitaille, 
That  we  undir  our  clothes  wide 
Maken  thourgh  oure  golet  glide. 

Or  but  he  wole  do  come  in  haste 
Roo-venysoun  bake  in  paste, 

Whether  so  that  he  loure  or  groyne, 

He  shal  have  of  a corde  a loigne 
With  whiche  men  shal  hym  bynde 
and  lede 

To  brenne  hym  for  his  synful  deede, 
That  men  shull  here  hym  crie  and  rore, 
A myle-wey  aboute  and  more; 

Or  ellis  he  shal  in  prisoun  dye, 

But  if  he  wole  his  frendship  bye, 

Or  smerten  that  that  he  hath  do 
More  than  his  gilt  amounteth  to. 

But  and  he  couthe  thurgh  his  sleight 
Do  maken  up  a tour  of  height, — 
Nought  rought  I whethirofstone,ortree, 
Or  erthe  or  turves  though  it  be, 
Though  it  were  of  no  vounde  stone 
W rought  with  squyre  and  scantilone, 
So  that  the  tour  were  stuffed  well 
With  alle  richesse  temporell — 

And  thanne  that  he  wolde  updresse 
Engyns  bothe  more  and  lesse, 

To  cast  at  us  by  every  side 
To  bere  his  goode  name  wide, 

Such  dightes  [as]  1 shal  yow  nevene, 
Barelles  of  wyne  by  sixe  or  sevene 
Or  gold  in  sakkis  gret  plente, 

He  shulde  soone  delyvered  be. 

And  if  he  have  noon  sich  pitaunces, 
Late  hym  study  in  equipolences. 

And  late  lyes  and  fallaces. 

If  that  he  wolde  deserve  oure  graces; 
Or  we  shal  bere  hym  such  witnesse 
Of  synne  and  of  his  wrecchidnesse, 

And  done  his  loos  so  wide  renne. 


That  al  quyk  we  shulden  hym  brenne, 
Or  ellis  yeve  hym  suche  penaunce 
That  is  wel  wors  than  the  pitaunce. 
For  thou  shalt  never  for  no  thing 
Kon  knowen  a-right  by  her  clothing 
The  traitours  full  of  trecherie, 

But  thou  her  werkis  can  a-spie. 

And  ne  hadde  the  good  kepyng  be 
Whilom  of  the  universite 
That  kepith  the  key  of  Cristendome 
We  had  bene  turmented,  al  and  some. 
Suche  ben  the  stynkyng  prophetis; 
Nys  noneof  hem  that  good  prophete  is, 
For  they  thurgh  wikked  entencioun, 
The  yeer  of  the  Incarnacioun 
A thousand  and  two  hundred  yeer, 
Fyve  and  fifty,  ferther  ne  ner, 
Broughten  a book  with  sory  grace 
To  yeven  ensample  in  comune  place, 
That  seide  thus  though  it  were  fable: 
‘This  is  the  Gospel  Perdurable, 

That  fro  the  Holy  Goost  is  sent.’ — 
Wel  were  it  worthi  to  bene  brent ! 
Entitled  was  in  such  manere 
Th  is  book,  of  which  I telle  heere 
Ther  nas  no  wight  in  all  Parys 
Biforne  Oure  Lady  at  parvvs 
That  he  ne  mighte  bye  the  book 
To  copy,  if  hym  talent  toke. 

There  myght  he  se  by  gret  tresoun 
Full  many  fals  comparisoun  : — 

‘As  moche  as  thurgh  his  gret  myght, 
Be  it  of  hete  or  oflyght, 

The  sonne  sourmounteth  the  mone, 
That  trouble  is  and  chaungith  soone. 
And  the  note  kernell  the  shell — 

(I  scorne  not,  that  I vow  tell) — 

Right  so,  withouten  ony  gile, 
Sourmounteth  this  noble  Evangile 


94 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


The  word  of  ony  evangelist.’ 

And  to  her  title  they  token  Crist. 

And  many  such  comparisoun 
Of  which  I make  no  mencioun, 
Mighte  men  in  that  book  fynde 
Who  so  coude  of  hem  have  mynde. 

The  Universite,  that  tho  was  a-slepe, 
Gan  forto  braide  and  taken  kepe, 

And  at  the  noys  the  heed  upcast, 

Ne  never  sithen  slept  it  fast ; 

But  up  it  stert,  and  armes  toke 
Ayens  this  false  horrible  boke, 

A1  redy  bated  for  to  make, 

And  to  the  juge  the  book  to  take. 

But  they  that  broughten  the  boke  there 
Hent  it  anoon  awey  for  fere ; 

They  nolde  shewe  more  a dele 
But  thenne  it  kept,  and  kepen  will, 

Til  such  a tyme  that  they  may  see 
That  they  so  stronge  woxen  be, 
Thatnowyghtmay  hemwel  withstonde. 
For  by  that  book  they  durst  not  stonde. 
Awey  they  gonne  it  forto  bere, 

For  they  ne  durste  not  answere 
By  exposicioun  ne  glose 
To  that  that  clerkis  wole  appose 
Ayens  the  cursednesse  y-wys 
That  in  that  booke  writen  is. 

Now  wote  I not,  ne  I can  not  see 
What  maner  eende  that  there  shal  be 
Of  al  this  [bokes]  that  they  hyde ; 

But  yit  algate  they  shal  abide 
Til  that  they  may  it  bet  defende, 

This  trowe  I best  wole  be  her  ende. 
Thus  Antecrist  abiden  we, 

For  we  ben  alle  of  his  meyne; 

And  what  man  that  wole  not  be  so, 
Right  soone  he  shal  his  lyf  forgo. 


We  wole  a puple  upon  hym  areyse, 

And  thurgh  oure  gile  done  hym  seise, 
And  hym  on  sharpe  speris  ryve, 

Or  other  weyes  brynge  hym  fro  lyve, 
But  if  that  he  wole  folowe  y-wis 
That  in  oure  booke  writen  is. 

Thus  mych  wole  oure  book  signifie, 
That  while  Petre  hath  maistrie, 

May  never  Iohn  shewe  well  his  myght. 
Now  have  I you  declared  right 
The  menyng  of  the  bark  and  rynde, 
That  makith  the  entenciouns  blynde ; 
But  now  at  erst  I wole  bigynne, 

To  expowne  you  the  pith  withynne: — 

And  the  seculers  comprehende, 

That  Cristes  lawe  wole  defende, 

And  shulde  it  kepen  and  mayntenen 
Ayenes  hem  that  all  sustenen, 

And  falsly  to  the  puple  techen. 

That  Iohn  bitokeneth  hem  that  prechen 
That  ther  nys  lawe  covenable 
But  thilke  Gospel  Perdurable, 

That  fro  the  Holygost  was  sent 
To  turne  folk  that  ben  myswent. 

The  strengthe  of  Iohn,  they  undirstonde 
Thegraceinwhichetheyseie  they  stonde, 
That  doth  the  synfull  folk  converte 
And  hem  to  lesus  Crist  reverte. 

Full  many  another  orriblite 
May  men  in  that  booke  se, 

That  ben  comaunded  douteles 
Ayens  the  lawe  of  Rome  expres ; 

And  all  with  Antecrist  they  holden, 

As  men  may  in  the  book  biholden. 

And  thanne  comaunden  they  to  sleen 
Alle  tho  that  with  Petre  been ; 

But  they  shal  nevere  have  that  myght, 
And  God  to-forne  for  strif  to  fight, 


95 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


That  they  ne  shal  enowe  fynde, 

That  Petres  lawe  shal  have  in  mynde, 
And  evere  holde,  and  so  mayntene; 
That  at  the  last  it  shal  be  sene 
That  they  shal  alle  come  therto 
For  ought  that  they  can  speke  or  do. 
And  thilke  lawe  shal  not  stonde 
That  they  by  Iohn  have  undirstonde, 
But,  maugre  hem,  it  shal  adowne, 

And  bene  brought  to  confusioun. 

But  I wole  stynt  of  this  matere, 

For  it  is  wonder  longe  to  here. 

But  hadde  that  ilke  book  endured, 

Of  better  estate  I were  ensured  ; 

And  freendis  have  I yit  pardee 
That  han  me  sett  in  gret  degre. 

Of  all  this  world  is  Emperour 
Gyle  my  fadir,  the  trechour, 

And  Emperis  my  moder  is, 

Maugre  the  Holygost  y-wis. 

Oure  myghty  lynage  and  oure  rowte 
Regneth  in  every  regne  aboute. 

And  well  is  worthy  we  [maystres]  be; 
For  all  this  world  governe  we. 

And  can  the  folk  so  wel  disceyve, 

That  noon  oure  gile  can  perceyve; 

And  though  they  done, they darnotsey. 
The  sothe  dar  no  wight  bywray. 

But  he  in  Cristis  wrath  hym  ledith 
That  more  than  Crist  my  britheren 
dredith. 

He  nys  no  full  good  champioun 
That  dredith  such  similacioun. 

Nor  that  for  peyne  wole  refusen 
Us  to  correcte  and  accusen. 

He  wole  not  entremete  by  right, 

Ne  have  God  in  his  eye-sight  ; 

And  therfore  God  shal  hym  punyce. 


But  me  ne  rekketh  of  no  vice, 

Sithen  men  us  loven  comunablv, 

And  holden  us  for  so  worthy, 

That  we  may  folk  repreve  echoon, 
And  we  nyl  have  repref  of  noon. 
Whom  shulden  folk  worshipen  so 
But  us,  that  stynten  never  mo 
To  patren  while  that  folk  may  us  see, 
Though  it  not  so  bihynde  hem  be. 
And  where  is  more  wode  folye 
Than  to  enhaunce  chyvalrie, 

And  love  noble  men  and  gay, 

That  joly  clothis  weren  alway  ? 

If  they  be  sich  folk  as  they  semen, 

So  clene  as  men  her  clothis  demen, 
And  that  her  wordis  folowe  her  dede, 
It  is  gret  pite,  out  of  drede, 

For  they  wole  be  noon  ypocritis  ! 

Of  hem  me  thynketh  [it]  gret  spite  is 
I can  not  love  hem  on  no  side. 

But  beggers  with  these  hodes  wide, 
With  sleigh  and  pale  faces  lene. 

And  greye  clothis  not  full  clene, 

But  fretted  full  of  tatarwagges, 

And  highe  shoes  knopped  with  dagges 
That  frouncen  lyke  a quaile-pipe, 

Or  botis  revelyng  as  a gype  ; 

To  such  folk  as  1 you  dyvyse 
Shulde  princes  and  these  lordis  wise 
Take  all  her  londis  and  her  thingis, 
Bothe  werre  and  pees  in  governyngis; 
To  such  folk  shulde  a prince  hym  yive 
That  wolde  his  lvf  in  honour  lvve. 

J J 

And  if  they  be  not  as  they  seme. 

That  serven  thus  the  world  to  queme. 
There  wolde  I dwelle  to  disceyve 
The  folk,  for  they  shal  not  perceyve. 
But  1 ne  speke  in  no  such  wise 
That  men  shulde  humble  abit  dispise. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


So  that  no  pride  ther-undir  be. 

No  man  shulde  hate,  as  thynkith  me, 
The  pore  man  in  sich  clothyng. 

But  God  ne  preisith  hym  no  thing 
That  seith  he  hath  the  world  forsake, 
And  hath  to  worldly  glorie  hym  take, 
And  wole  of  siche  delices  use. 

Who  may  that  begger  wel  excuse, 
That  papelard  that  hym  yeldith  so, 
And  wole  to  worldly  ese  go, 

And  seith  that  he  the  world  hath  lefte, 
And  gredily  it  grypeth  efte  ? 

He  is  the  hounde,  shame  is  to  seyn, 
That  to  his  castyng  goth  ageyn. 

But  unto  you  dar  I not  lye  ; 

But  myght  I felen  or  aspie 
That  ye  perceyved  it  no  thyng, 

Ye  shulde  have  a stark  lesyng 
Right  in  youre  honde  thus,  to  bigynne, 
I nolde  it  lette  ror  no  synne.” 

The  god  lough  at  the  wondir  tho, 

And  every  wight  gan  laugh  also, 

And  seide  : — “ Lo  heere  a man,  a right 
Forto  be  trusty  to  every  wight  ! ” 

“Falssemblant,”  quod  Love,  “ sey  tome, 
Sith  I thus  have  advaunced  thee 
That  in  my  court  is  thi  dwellyng, 

And  of  ribawdis  shalt  be  my  kyng, 
Wolt  thou  wel  holden  my  forwardis  ? ” 
“Yhe,  sir,  from  hennes  forewardis  ; 
Hadde  never  youre  fadir  heere  biforne 
Servaunt  so  trewe,  sith  he  was  borne.” 

“ That  is  ageynes  all  nature.” 

“ Sir,  putte  you  in  that  aventure ; 

For  though  ye  borowes  take  of  me, 


The  sikerer  shal  ye  never  be 
For  ostages,  ne  sikirnsese, 

Or  chartres,  forto  bere  witnesse 
I take  youre  silf  to  recorde  heere, 

That  men  ne  may,  in  no  manere, 

Teren  the  wolf  out  of  his  hide, 

Til  he  be  flayen  bak  and  side, 

Though  men  hym  bete  and  al  defile. 
What  ! Wene  ye  that  I wole  bigile  2 
For  I am  clothed  mekely, 

Ther-undir  is  all  my  trechery  ; 

Myn  herte  chaungith  never  the  mo 
For  noon  abit  in  which  I go. 

Though  I have  chere  of  symplenesse, 

I am  not  wery  of  shrewidnesse. 

Myn  lemman  Streyneth-Abstinence, 
Hath  myster  of  my  purveaunce  ; 

She  hadde  ful  longe  ago  be  deede, 
Nere  my  councel  and  my  rede ; 

Lete  hir  allone  and  you  and  me.” 

And  Love  answerde : “ I truste  thee 
Withoute  borowe  for  I wole  noon.” 

And  Falssemblant,  the  theef,  anoon 
Ryght  in  that  ilke  same  place, 

That  hadde  of  tresoun  al  his  face 
Ryght  black  withynneand  white  with- 
oute, 

Thankyth  hym,  gan  on  his  knees  loute. 

Thanne  was  ther  nought  but  “Every 
man 

Now  to  assaut  that  sailen  can,” 

Quod  Love,  “and  that  full  hardyly  !” 
Thanne  armed  they  hem  communly 
Of  sich  armour  as  to  hem  felle. 
Whanne  the  were  armed  fers  and  felle, 
They  wente  hem  forth  all  in  a route, 

97  n 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


And  set  the  castel  al  aboute. 

They  will  nought  away  for  no  drede, 
Till  it  so  be  that  they  ben  dede, 

Or  till  they  have  the  castel  take. 

And  foure  batels  they  gan  make, 

And  parted  hem  in  foure  anoon. 

And  toke  her  way  and  forth  they  gone, 
The  foure  gates  forto  assaile, 

Of  whiche  the  kepers  wole  not  fade. 
For  they  ben  neithir  sike  ne  dede. 

But  hardy  folk  and  stronge  in  dede. 

Now  wole  I seyn  the  countynaunce 
Of  Falssemblant  and  Abstynaunce, 
That  ben  to  Wikkid-Tonge  went. 

But  first  they  heelde  her  parlement 
Whether  it  to  done  were 
To  maken  hem  be  knowen  there, 

Or  elles  walken  forth  disgised. 

But  at  the  laste  they  devysed 
That  they  wolde  gone  in  tapinage, 

As  it  were  in  a pilgrimage, 

Lyke  good  and  hooly  folk  unfeyned. 
And  Dame  Abstinence-Streyned 
Toke  on  a robe  of  kamelyne, 

And  gan  hir  graithe  as  a Bygynne. 

A large  coverechief  of  threde 
She  wrapped  all  aboute  hir  heede  ; 

But  she  forgate  not  hir  sawter  ; 

A peire  of  bedis  eke  she  here 
Upon  a lace  all  of  white  threde, 

On  which  that  she  hir  bedes  bede. 

But  she  ne  bought  hem  never  a dele, 
For  they  were  geven  her  I wote  wele, 
God  wote,  of  a full  hooly  frere. 

That  seide  he  was  hir  fadir  dere 
To  whom  she  hadde  ofter  went 
Than  ony  frere  of  his  covent. 

And  he  visited  hir  also. 


And  many  a sermoun  seide  hir  to  ; 
He  nolde  lette  for  man  on  lyve 
That  he  ne  wolde  hir  ofte  shryve, 
And  with  so  great  devocion 
They  made  her  confession, 

That  they  had  ofte,  for  the  nones, 
Two  heedes  in  one  hoode  at  ones. 

Of  fayre  shappe  I devyse  her  the, 

But  pale  of  face  somtvme  was  she  ; 
That  false  traytouresse  untrewe, 

Was  lyke  that  salowe  horse  of  hewe, 
That  in  the  Apocalips  is  shewed, 
That  signifyeth  tho  folke  beshrewed. 
That  ben  al  ful  of  trecherye 
And  pale  through  hypocrisye. 

For  on  that  horse  no  colour  is, 

But  onely  deed  and  pale  y-wis. 

Of  suche  a colour  enlangoured 
Was  Abstynence  i-wys  coloured  ; 

Of  her  estate  she  her  repented, 

As  her  visage  represented. 

She  had  a burdowne  al  of  Thefte, 
That  Gyle  had  yeve  her  of  his  yefte ; 
And  a skryppe  of  Faynte  Distresse, 
That  ful  was  of  elengenesse. 

And  forthe  she  walked  sobrely  ; 

And  False  Semblant  savnt  je  vous  die , 
Had,  as  it  were  for  suche  mistere, 
Done  on  the  cope  of  a frere. 

With  chere  symple  and  ful  pytous, 
Hys  lokyng  was  not  disdeynous 
Ne  proude,  but  meke  and  till  pesyble. 

About  his  neck  he  bare  a bvble, 

And  squierly  forthe  gan  he  gon  ; 

And,  for  to  rest  his  lymmes  upon. 

He  had  of  Treson  a potent ; 

98 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


As  he  were  feble  his  way  he  went. 

But  in  his  sieve  he  gan  to  thring 
A rasour  sharpe,  and  wel  bytyng, 

That  was  forged  in  a forge, 
Whichethat  men  clepen  Coupe-gorge. 
So  longe  forthe  her  waye  they  nomen, 
Tyl  they  to  Wicked-Tonge  comen. 
That  at  his  gate  was  syttyng, 

And  sawe  folke  in  the  way  passyng. 
The  pilgrymes  sawe  he  faste  by, 

That  beren  hem  ful  mekely, 

And  humbly  they  with  him  mette, 
Dame  Abstynence  first  him  grette, 
And  sythe  him  False-Semblant  salued, 
And  he  hem ; but  he  not  remeued 
For  he  ne  dredde  hem  not  a dele. 

For  whan  he  sawe  her  faces  wele, 
Alway  in  herte  hem  thought  so, 

He  shulde  knowe  hem  bothe  two  ; 

For  wel  hekneweDameAbstynaunce, 
But  he  ne  knewe  not  Constreynaunce. 
He  knewenat  thatshe  wasconstrayned, 
Ne  of  her  theves  lyfe  [y-]fayned, 

But  wende  she  come  of  wyl  al  free  ; 
But  she  come  in  another  degree ; 

And  if  of  good  wyl  she  heganne 
That  wyl  was  fayled  her  [as]  thanne. 
And  False-Semblant  had  he  sayne  alse, 
But  he  knewe  nat  that  he  was  false. 
Yet  false  was  he,  but  his  falsnesse 
Ne  coude  he  nat  espye  nor  gesse ; 

For  Semblant  was  so  slye  wrought, 
That  Falsenesse  he  ne  espyed  nought. 

But  haddest  thou  knowen  hym  beforne 
Thou  woldest  on  a boke  have  sworne, 
Whan  thou  him  saugh  in  thylke  araye, 
That  he  that  whilome  was  so  gaye, 
And  of  the  daunce  joly  Robyn, 


Was  tho  become  a Iacobyn. 

But  sothely  what  so  menne  hym  calle, 
Freres  Prechours  bene  good  menne 
alle, 

Her  order  wickedly  they  beren, 

Suche  myn[e]strelles  if  they  weren. 

So  bene  Augustyns  and  Cordyleres 
And  Carmes,  and  eke  Sacked  freeres 
And  alle  freres,  shodde  and  bare, 
(Though  some  of  hem  ben  gret  and 
square) 

Ful  hooly  men,  as  I hem  deme. 
Everycheofhem  woldegood  man  seme ; 
But  shake  thou  never  of  apparence 
Sene  conclude  good  consequence 
In  none  argument  y-wis 
If  existens  al  fayled  is. 

For  menne  mayefynde  alwayesophyme 
The  consequence  to  envenyme, 

Who  so  that  hath  hadde  the  subtelte 
The  double  sentence  for  to  se. 

Whan  the  pylgrymes  commen  were 
To  Wicked-Tonge  that  dwelled  there, 
Her  harneys  nygh  hem  was  algate; 

By  Wicked-Tonge  adowne  they  sate, 
That  badde  hem  nere  him  for  to  come 
And  of  tidynges  telle  him  some. 

And  say d hem  : “ What  case  maketh  you 
To  come  in-to  this  place  nowe?” 

“Sir,”  sayd  Strayned-Abstynaunce, 
“We,  for  to  drye  our  penaunce 
With  hertes  pytous  and  devoute 
Are  commen, as  pylgrimes  gon  aboute : 
Wel  nygh  on  fote  always  we  go ; 

Ful  doustv  ben  our  heeles  two. 

J 

And  thus  bothe  we  ben  sent 


99 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Throughout  this  worlde  that  is  miswent, 
To  yeve  ensample,  and  preche  also. 

To  fysshen  synful  menne  we  go, 

For  other  fysshynge,  ne  fysshe  we. 
And,  sir,  for  that  charyte, 

As  we  be  wonte,  herborowe  we  crave 
Your  lyfe  to  amende,  Christ  it  save, 
And  so  it  shulde  you  nat  displese, 

We  wolden,  if  it  were  your  ese, 

A shorte  sermon  unto  you  sayne.” 

And  Wicked-Tonge  answered  agayne : 

“The  house,”  quod  he,  “such  as  ye  se 
Shal  nat  be  warned  you  for  me. 

Say  what  you  lyst,  and  I wol  here.” 

“Graunt  mercy,  swete  sir,  dere,” 

Quod  alderfirst  Dame  Abstynence, 

And  thus  began  she  her  sentence : 

“Sir,  the  firste  vertue  certayne. 

The  greatest,  and  moste  soverayne 
That  may  be  founde  in  any  man 
For  havynge  or  for  wytte  he  can, 

That  is  his  tonge  to  refrayne. 

Therto  ought  every  wight  him  payne, 

For  it  is  better  stylle  be 

Than  for  to  speken  harme,  parde ; 

And  he  that  herkeneth  it  gladly. 

He  is  no  good  man  sykerly. 

And,  sir,  aboven  al  other  synne, 

In  that  arte  thou  moste  gylty  inne. 
Thou  spake  a jape  not  long  a-go 
(And,  sir,  that  was  ryght  yvel  do) 

Of  a yonge  man,  that  here  repayred 
And  never  yet  this  place  apayred. 

Thou  saydest  he  awayted  nothyng 
But  to  disceyve  Fayre-Welcomyng. 


Ye  sayde  nothyng  sothe  of  that ; 

But,  sir,  ye  lye,  I tel  you  plat ; 

He  necomethnomore,negothe, parde ! 
I trowe  ye  shal  him  never  se. 
Fayre-Welcomyng  in  prison  is, 

That  ofte  hath  played  with  vou  er  this 
The  fayrest  games  that  he  coude, 
Withoute  fylthe,  styl  or  loude ; 

Nowe  dare  he  nat  him  selfe  solace. 

Ye  han  also  the  manne  do  chace, 

That  he  dare  neyther  come  ne  go ; 
What  meveth  you  to  hate  him  so, 

But  properly  your  wicked  thought, 
That  many  a false  lesyng  hath  thought, 
That  meveth  your  foole  eloquence, 
That  jangleth  ever  in  audvence. 

And  on  the  folke  areyseth  blame, 

And  doth  hem  dishonour  and  shame, 
For  thynge  that  maye  have  no  prevyng 
But  lykelynesse,  and  contryvyng? 

For  I dare  sayne  that  reason  demeth, 

It  is  nat  al  sothe  thynge  that  semeth  ; 
And  it  is  synne  to  controve 
Thynge  that  is  to  reprove  ; 

This  wote  ye  wele;  and,  sir,  therfore 
Ye  arne  to  blame  [wel]  the  more. 

And  nathelesse  he  recketh  lvte 
He  yeveth  nat  nowe  therof  a myte. 

For  if  he  thoughte  harme,  parfaye. 

He  wolde  come  and  gone  al  daye ; 

He  coude  himselfe  nat  abstene. 

Now  cometh  he  nat,  and  that  is  sene, 
For  he  ne  taketh  of  it  no  cure. 

But  if  it  be  through  aventure, 

And  lasse  than  other  folke,  algate. 

And  thou  her  watchest  at  the  gate. 
With  speare  in  thyne  arest  alwaye; 
There  muse,  musarde,  al  the  daye. 
ioo 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Thouwakest  nightanddayforthought ; 
I-wis  thy  traveyle  is  for  nought. 

And  lelousye,  withouten  fayle, 

Shal  never  quyte  the  thy  traveyle. 
Andskathe  is  that  Fayre-Welcomyng 
Withouten  any  trespassyng, 

Shal  wrongfully  in  prison  be, 

There  wepeth  and  languyssheth  he. 
And  though  thou  never  yet,  y-wis, 
Agyltest  manne  no  more  but  this, — 
Take  nat  a grefe, — it  were  worthy 
To  putte  the  out  of  this  bayly, 

And  afterwards  in  prison  lye. 

And  fettre  the,  tyl  that  thou  dye. 

For  thou  shalt  for  this  synne  dwelle 
Right  in  the  devels  ers  of  belle, 

But  if  that  thou  repente  thee.” 
“Mafay,  thou  liest  falsly  !”  quod  he. 
“What?  welcome  with  myschaunce 
nowe ! 

Have  I therfore  herberd  yowe 
To  seye  me  shame,  and  eke  reprove 
With  sory  happe,  to  youre  bihove? 
Am  I to  day  youre  herbegere? 

Go  herberyow  elles-where  than  heere, 
That  han  a Iyer  called  me  ! 

Two  tregetours  art  thou  and  he, 

That  in  myn  hous  do  me  this  shame. 
And  for  my  sothe-saugh  ye  me  blame. 
Is  this  the  sermoun  that  ye  make  ? 

To  all  the  develles  I me  take, 

Or  elles,  God,  thou  me  confounde  ! 

But  er  men  diden  this  castel  founde, 

It  passith  not  ten  daies  or  twelve 
But  it  was  tolde  right  to  my  selve. 

And  as  they  seide,  right  so  tolde  I : 

He  kyst  the  Rose  pryvyly  ! 

Thus  seide  I now  and  have  seid  yore ; 

I not  where  he  dide  ony  more. 


Why  shulde  men  sey  me  such  a thyng 
If  it  hadde  bene  gabbyng? 

Ryght  so  seide  I and  wol  seye  yit ; 

I trowe  I lied  not  of  it. 

And  with  my  bemes  I wole  blowe 
To  alle  neighboris  a-rowe, 

How  he  hath  bothe  comen  and  gone.” 
Tho  spake  Falssemblant  right  anone : 
“All  is  not  gospel,  oute  of  doute, 

That  men  seyn  in  the  towne  aboute ; 
Ley  no  deef  ere  to  my  spekyng  ; 

I swere  yow,  sir,  it  is  gabbyng ; 

I trowe  ye  wote  wel  certeynly, 

That  no  man  loveth  hym  tenderly 
That  seith  hym  harme,  if  he  wote  it, 
All  be  he  never  so  pore  of  wit. 

And  soth  is  also  sikerly 
(This  knowe  ye,  sir,  as  wel  as  I) 

That  lovers  gladly  wole  visiten 
The  places  there  her  loves  habiten. 
Thismanyowlovethandekehonoureth 
This  man  to  serve  you  laboureth, 

And  clepith  you  ‘his  freend  so  deere,’ 
And  this  man  makith  you  good  chere. 
And  every-where  that  [he]  you  meteth 
He  yow  saloweth  and  he  you  greteth. 
He  preseth  not  so  ofte  that  ye 
Ought  of  his  come  encombred  be; 
Ther  presen  other  folk  on  yow 
Full  ofter  than  he  doth  now. 

And  if  his  herte  hym  streyned  so, 

Unto  the  Rose  forto  go, 

Ye  shulde  hym  sene  so  ofte  nede, 

That  ye  shulde  take  hym  with  thedede. 
He  cowde  his  comyng  not  forbere 
Though  he  hym  thrilled  with  a spere ; 
It  nere  not  thanne  as  it  is  now. 

But  trustith  wel,  I swere  it  yow, 

That  it  is  clene  out  of  his  thought; 

IOI 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE 


Sir,  certis  he  ne  thenkith  it  nought, 
No  more  ne  doth  Faire-Welcomyng, 
That  sore  abieth  al  this  thing. 

And  if  they  were  of  oon  assent, 

Full  soone  were  the  Rose  hent, 

The  maugre  youres  wolde  be. 

And,  sir,  of  o thing  herkeneth  me: 
Sith  ye  this  man  that  loveth  yow 
Han  seid  such  harme  and  shame  now, 
Witeth  wel  if  he  gessed  it, 

Ye  may  wel  demen  in  youre  wit 
He  nolde  no  thyng  love  you  so, 

Ne  callen  you  his  freende  also  ; 

But  nyght  and  day  he  wolde  wake 
The  castell  to  destroie  and  take, 

If  it  were  soth  as  ye  devise  ; 

Or  some  man  in  some  maner  wise. 
Might  it  warne  hym  everydele. 

Or  by  hymsilf  perceyven  wele. 

For  sith  he  myght  not  come  and  gone 
As  he  was  whilom  wont  to  done, 

He  myght  it  sone  wite  and  see. 

But  now  all  other  wise  doth  he. 
Thanne  have,  [ye]  sir,  al  outerly 
Deserved  helle,  and  Iolyly 
The  deth  of  helle  douteles, 

That  thrallen  folk  so  gilteles.” 

Fals  Semblant  proveth  so  this  thing, 
That  he  can  noon  answeryng, 


And  seth  alwey  such  apparaunce, 

That  nygh  he  fel  in  repentaunce 
And  seide  hym: — “Sir,  it  may  wel  be, 
Semblant,  a good  man  semen  ve ; 

And,  Abstinence,  full  wise  ye  seme ; 

Of  o talent  you  bothe  I deme. 

What  counceil  wole  ye  to  me  yeven  ?” 
“Ryghtheereanoon  thoushaltbeshryven. 
And  sey  thy  synne  withoute  more ; 

Of  this  shalt  thou  repente  sore. 

For  I am  prest,  and  have  pouste 
To  shryve  folk  of  most  dignvte 
That  ben,  as  wide  as  world  may  dure. 

Of  all  this  world  I have  the  cure. 

And  that  hadde  never  yit  persoun, 

Ne  vicarie  of  no  maner  toun. 

And,  God  wote,  I have  of  thee 
A thousand  tyme  more  pitee 
Than  hath  thi  preest  parochial. 

Though  he  thy  freend  be  special. 

I have  avauntage  in  o wise 
That  youre  prelatis  ben  not  so  wise, 

Ne  half  so  lettred  as  am  I. 

I am  licenced  boldely 

To  rede  in  Divinite 

And  to  confessen,  out  of  drede. 

If  ye  wol  you  now  confesse, 

And  leve  your  sinnes  more  and  lesse 
Withoute  abood,  knele  down  anon, 

And  you  shal  have  absolucion.” 


HERE  ENDS  THE  ROMAUNT  OF  THE  ROSE  IN  THE 
VERSION  ASCRIBED  TO  GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  BY 
COURTEOUS  PERMISSION  OF  MESSRS  MACMILLAN 
& CO,  THE  TEXT  FOLLOWED  IS  THAT  EDITED  BY 
PROF.  MARK  H.  LIDDELL  IN  THE  GLOBE  EDITION 


GLOSSARY 


Abieth,  pays  for 
Abood,  delay 
Abraide,  Abreyd,  awoke 
Acoye,  coax 
Adamaund,  magnet 
Affraietfi,  arouses 
Affye,  trust 
Aguler,  needle-case 
Agylte,  offend 
Alder,  of  all 
Alderfirst,  first  of  all 
Aleys,  fruit  of  the  service-tree 
Algate,  any  way 
Alosed,  praised 
Alpes,  bullfinches 
Alto-share,  cut  in  pieces 
Apaied,  contented 
Appert,  open 
Archaungell,  titmouse 
Arest,  in  rest 
Attempre,  temperate 
Auntre,  adventure 
Avaunt,  forward 
Avenaunt,  comely 
Avysion,  vision 
Awmere,  bag  for  alms 

Baalis  beete,  bale’s  boot — harm’s  cure 
Baude,  gay 
Baundon,  power 
Berne,  barn 

Besaunt,  a small  gold  coin 

Besaunt-wight,  the  weight  of  a besaunt 

Bigoo,  clothed 

Bimene,  bemoan 

Biseke,  beseech 

Bisett,  employs 

Blent,  to  blench 

Blynne,  cease 

Bolas,  bullace,  the  wild  plum 
Bordillers,  brothel-keepers 
Borowes,  pledges 
Braide,  start 

Burnet  cote,  brown  garment 
Burnettes,  brown  garments 


Bygyns,  beguines,  a charitable  order  of 

Byhote,  promise 

Bynomen,  taken  away 

Byrde,  bride 

Bystadde,  bestead 

Bytrasshed,  betrayed 

Caleweis,  pears 
Canell,  cinnamon 
Chelaundre,  lark 
Chevesaile,  collar 
Chevisaunce,  bargain 
Chiche,  Chynchy,  niggardly 
Ciergis,  tapers 
Clapers,  burrows 
Clowe-gelofre,  clove-gillyflower 
Comyn,  common 
Controve,  contrive 
Conynges,  rabbits 
Corde  A loigne,  tether-cord 
Cordyleres,  a Franciscan  order 
Corumpable,  corruptible 
Cosse,  kiss 
Countours,  auditors 
Courtepy,  short  cloak 
Covenable,  fit 
Covyne,  deceit 
Criande,  crying 
Cunne,  study 

Dampnyng,  condemning 
Daungere,  power,  or  domain 
Dawes,  days 
Decoped,  slit 
Delices,  delights 
Delyver,  quick 
Delyverly,  nimbly 
Dever,  duty 

Deynous,  Deighnous,  disdainful 
Dispitous,  contemptuous 
Doande,  doing 
Dome,  judgment 
Druerie,  affection 
Durst,  need 


O 


GLOSSARY 


Egre,  sharp 

Herbejours,  harbingers 

Eisel,  vinegar 

Holstred,  concealed 

Elengenesse,  misery 

Honde,  hand 

Emprise,  enterprise 

Hoole,  whole 

Enchesoun,  occasion 

Horis,  prostitutes 

Entremete,  interfere 
Equipolences,  equivalents 
Erke,  weary 

Hote,  promise 

Hoteth,  promises 

Ernes,  pledges 

Jagounces,  jacinths 

Esters,  Estres,  Estrees,  inmost  part  of  a 
Farce,  paint 

house  Jangelyngis,  chatterings 
Jupartie,  jeopardy 

Fawe,  fain 

Kamelyne,  camel’s  hair 

Fele,  many 

Karole,  a dance,  singing 

Fette,  fetched 

Kepe,  care 

Fetys,  neat 

Kernels,  loopholes 

Flawns,  pancakes 

Kidde,  revealed 

Flemed,  exiled 

Kirked,  crooked 

Flowtours,  pipers 
Foisoun,  increase 

Knoppis,  buds 

Fonde,  foolishly 

Laas,  snare 

Fordwyned,  wasted 

Lacche,  snare 

Forpyned,  wretched 

Laverokkes,  larks 

Forthenke,  repent 

Lemes,  beams 

Forwelked,  withered 

Lenyng,  lending 

Forwered,  worn  out 

Lepande,  leaping 

For- wo,  weary 

Lere,  learn 

Frett,  adorned 

Lesynges,  falsehoods 

Frounced,  wrinkled 

Lettrure,  learning 
Loigne,  tether 

Gadelyng,  vagabond 

Loos,  fame 

Gnede,  gnawed 

Loreres,  bay-trees 

Golet,  gullet 

Losengere,  flatterer 

Gounfanoun,  banner 

Loteby,  paramour 

Graithe,  Graythe,  prepare 

Loure,  lower 

Gree  (take  atte),  agree  to 
Greve,  grove 

Lowith,  praises 

Greyn  de  paradys,  a kind  of  spice 

Maate,  dejected 

Groyne,  grant 

Mangonel,  a military  engine 

Grucching,  grumbling 

Maugree,  in  spite  of 

Gype,  tunic 

Mentes,  mint 

Gysarme,  halberd 

Mes,  advantage 
Meveresse,  agitator 

Haire,  hair-shirt 

Meygned,  maimed 

Hatte,  be  called 

Meynde,  mingled 

Hawteyne,  haughty 

Moeble,  movable 

Haye,  hedge 

Mourdaunt,  part  of  the  girdle 

Heerdis,  coarse  flax 

Mowe,  may 

Hende,  gracious 

Mowis,  stacks  or  heaps  in  a barn 

Hent,  caught 

Moysoun,  crop 

106 

Musarde,  dreamer 
Mycher,  thief 
Mysseye,  traduce 
Myssaiere,  scandal-monger 
Myster,  need 

Nedely,  of  necessity 
Neigh,  nigh,  come  nigh 
Nempned,  called 
Nokked,  notched 
Norriture,  nurture 
Nycete,  folly 

Olmeris,  elms 
Omager,  vassal 
Onde,  hatred 

Orfrays,  embroidery  in  gold 

Paie,  content 

Palasie,  palsy 

Palasyns,  palaces 

Papelardie,  deceit 

Parseners,  partners 

Patre,  to  repeat  prayers 

Peire,  injure 

Pensel,  banner 

Perdurable,  enduring 

Perell,  pearl 

Persant,  piercing 

Popped,  over-dressed 

Possed,  pushed 

Potent  (by),  with  a crutch 

Pouste,  power 

Poynten,  prick  or  probe 

Poynt  devys  (at),  minutely 

Prece,  press 

Prey,  pray 

Prille,  spin  round 

Provende,  food 

Prowe,  profit 

PULLAYLLE,  fowl 

Puple,  people 

Purveaunce,  providence 

Pyment,  spiced  wine  and  honey 


GLOSSARY 

Racyne,  root 
Ramage,  wild 
Rape,  haste 
Recchith,  care 
Refuyt,  refuge 
Rehete,  cheer 
Remeued,  removed 
Rescous,  rescue 
Reved,  robbed 
Rishe,  rush 
Roket,  linen  vest 
Rone,  bush 
Roukyng,  cowering 
Royne,  scurf 
Ryve,  pierce 

Saillouris,  dancers 

Sauff,  except 

Scantilone,  mason’s  rule 

Scochouns,  escutcheons 

Setewale,  valerian 

Shende,  harm 

Shendith,  confounds 

Shere,  shorn 

Shof,  shoved 

SlBBE,  related 

Sikerly,  surely 

SlTTANDE,  fitting 

Skathe,  harm 

Slowe,  sluggard 

Sothe-sawe,  true  story 

Souple,  pliant 

Souplen,  make  pliant 

Sparthe,  axe 

Spaunysshinge,  blooming 

Spryngoldes,  stone-throwers 

Starfe,  died 

Stonte,  stand 

Stounde-mele,  at  times 

Stoundes,  instants 

Styf  in  stour,  stubborn  in  conflict 

Sukkenye,  a jacket 

Sweveninges,  dreams 

Swire,  throat 

Swithe,  quickly 


Quarels,  cross-bow  bolts 
Queme,  please 
Quoint,  quaint 
Quystroun,  scullion 


Tapinage,  hiding 
Tatarwagges,  tatters 
Temprure,  tempering 
Tene,  sorrow 


Terins,  finches 
Thwyten,  whittled 
To-drawe,  to  draw  asunder 
To-slytered,  slashed 
Treget,  trickery 

Trepeget,  engine  for  casting  stones 
Tretys,  well-formed 
Trowandyse,  Truandise,  vagrancy 
Twynne,  separate 
Tymbres,  timbrels  or  tabors 
Tymbester,  a timbrel-player 

Unnethe,  scarcely 

Veer  yliche,  spring-like 
Vekke,  old  woman 
Volage,  giddy 

Warisoun,  reward 
Warnen,  denied 


GLOSSARY 

Wem,  blemish 
Wene,  doubt 
Were,  danger 
Werne,  refuse 
Werreid,  persecuted 
Weymentyng,  lamentation 
Wisly,  surely 
Wodewales,  a kind  of  bird 
Woll,  wool,  will 
Wone,  abundance 
Woode,  mad 
Wreying,  betrayal 
Wrine,  Wryne,  cover 
Wyndre,  to  trim  the  hair 

Yeechyng,  itching 
Yerne,  desirous 
Yfere,  together 
Y mped,  grafted 
Ynde,  indigo 


Printed  by  Ballantyne,  Hanson  & Co. 
Edinburgh  London 


